Wunderkind 2
by The Thistle Girl
Summary: Getting Mac cleared of murder and terrorism was only the beginning. Now, the team is hunting down the elusive and dangerous James MacGyver, dealing with the threat of an escaped and obsessed Murdoc, and tackling the most difficult Phoenix cases around the globe...
1. DIY or Die

SOMEWHERE IN SYRIA

MARCH 2014

"_Agent Cage." Sam blinks, she's still getting used to that name. She buried Deborah Riddick two years ago in a river outside Brisbane, but some part of her still hasn't accepted Samantha Cage as a replacement. _

_Samantha is her way of remembering the good pieces of her past, it's her sister's middle name and the last tie Sam still has to her old life. To the world before Scorpion. The last name was her way of laughing at the darkness she left behind, the cages literal and figurative that Marton gave her the keys to escape. But it's been over a year, and sometimes the name still feels foreign in her ears and on her tongue. _Accepting it means accepting who I am now. _Some days, that's easier than others. And tonight, preparing to do something she did a hundred times for very different people, there's a part of Deborah creeping back in. She pushes it away, the way she has all through training, through every one of those missions she's completed. _

_Beside her, Roger Marton adjusts his comms. It still feels odd to have a partner she can actually trust, who won't potentially turn on her if the mission goes south. Working for the legal side of things has its benefits. It's taken her a long time to trust that she's not expendable to these people. Or at least not to Marton. _

_She's not sure the SAS approved of him hiring a known hit woman with over fifty confirmed kills in her dossier, but for some reason, he'd refused to give up. He walked her out of the black site where she'd spent the six months after Brisbane, and he's been beside her every step of the way, from training to her first sanctioned field op to now. _

_She breathes steadily in and out, willing herself to focus, to remember what she's doing here and why. Who she is. Samantha Cage is an SAS agent. Not a criminal. She's not a cold-blooded killer. It turns out, almost a decade of turning yourself into a soulless creature with one goal is hard to undo. _

_She lifts the scarf over her face, the same one that's disguised her in the streets, and ties it tighter, pulling her hair in tightly, ready for a fight if need be. If all goes well, they'll simply be retrieving the intel they're after and leaving. But the one thing Sam's learned in life is that there's no such thing as a simple mission. _

_True, this time failure won't result in potential death threats from her own agency. But that won't help her if she's caught by this terrorist cell. _

_The night wind off the desert is shockingly cool. Sam can see her own breath curling up in front of her in the darkness. She glances up at the wall of the compound and then at Marton. He nods, and then tosses the wrapped hook to the top of the wall. It makes barely a sound as it catches in the decorative edging. _

_Sam scrambles up the wall, Marton behind her, and waits until the patrol passes before dropping soundlessly into the courtyard. Staying in the shadows, they slip around the perimeter to the back entrance of the main compound building. Marton carefully slips the lock, and both of them step inside. _

_The papers they're looking for are supposed to be in a room on the second floor. Sam opens the door to the hallway that should get them to the stairs, and then freezes. They've been lied to. Intel said this compound was nearly deserted, basically just an information storage site. _

_This is an active operation. There are at least half a dozen armed guards inside the building. _

_She hopes she can simply close the door and step back, that they'll be able to get out and regroup. Unfortunately, she's never been a very lucky person. _

_There's a yell from the hall, and a spray of bullets peppers the door as she pulls it closed. She shoves a crate in front of it, hoping to delay the guards a little, and she and Marton run for the door, ducking to avoid the bullets splintering the door. _

_The second they're outside, Sam can see multiple shapes closing in on them. They're going to be trapped between the guards inside and the guards outside, and their only chance of escape is to get to the wall. _

_Sam's SAS training slips aside, replaced by the faster, deadlier Scorpion methods that are far more lethal. She barely feels it when a knife slashes across her ribs, when a bullet grazes her shoulder, when a man's neck snaps under her hands. This is what she was made to be. _

"_Agent Cage!" Marton's voice in her comms snaps her back from the wild fury. She looks down, panting, at the destruction she's created. "We need to go! Now!" She can see him coming toward her, his own assailants dealt with. _He saw this. He saw me turn back into the monster. _Her hands are shaking, and she tries to push it all aside. This isn't the first time she's lost control on a mission, but it's the most devastating. There are at least five bodies at her feet. _

_And then there's a spattering of shots, and Marton stumbles. He lurches forward, dark patches spreading on his hip and side. Sam freezes. _

"_Go! Get out!" He yells at her, reaching down to grab a gun from one of the men she took out. "I'll cover you!" _

_She shakes her head. She's already killed heartlessly. She isn't going to leave someone to die for her, she's not worth that. Marton is a good man. It should be him that survives, not her. "I can't leave you here!"_

"_This is my job." His voice softens. "Sam, get out. Now." It's the tone of voice that won't take no for an answer. _

_She remembers seeing a heavy truck, military type, in the front of the building when they first came in. It's her only way to get out fast, and it will give her a lot more cover than trying to climb back over the wall._

_She runs for the truck, and every second expects to feel the shot that takes her down. But she makes it to the truck unscathed. She scrambles in, yanks out the wires under the dashboard, and hotwires the truck. It roars to life, and for a split second she contemplates driving back, snatching up Marton, alive or dead, and getting them both out. But then five more guards pour out the front door and shots tear through the canvas and smash the left side mirror. _

_Sam jams the truck into gear and barrels toward the gate. The shots from the guards there shatter the windshield, and she hears a tire blow and feels the vehicle lurch, but it's still moving, and the smash as it shatters the wooden gate is a relief. _

_Sam clenches her fists around the wheel of the truck, shuddering. _This isn't even close to the first time I've been forced to leave a man behind. _But now there's an ache in her chest over doing it. _Is this what it means to be one of the good guys?

…

103 MILES OFF THE COAST OF FLORIDA

MAC WOULD FIT IN WELL HERE

Being in Cuba reminds Mac of his vigilante days working in the Hispanic neighborhoods in LA. He recognizes the dialect, the food people are hawking on street corners, and the kindness of strangers.

Unfortunately, he's also currently being given plenty of reasons to remember the violent gangs. He blinks and flinches as what he's pretty sure is the fifth punch cuts across his cheek. Another lands on his ribs. He's fairly sure he heard a soft snap both times.

He still has a cast from breaking his hand in the fight at the Phoenix a few weeks ago. He's not really interested in adding to the broken bone collection he's already sporting.

Jack's apparently got the same idea. "You keep punching on the kid, I'm gonna get jealous over here." Mac shakes his head. He'd like this to stop, but he doesn't want the man's anger to get transferred to Jack. He'd rather just get them both out of here. Which is what he's trying to do. Unfortunately, being repeatedly punched in the face doesn't make turning a button into something sharp enough to cut through the duct tape they're tied up with an easy job.

"Where's the love?" Jack asks, and their captor stalks around the chair to land what sounds like a solid punch. But Jack just chuckles. "You know, my five year old neice can hit harder than that." There's another pounding crack. "Ok, now that's better. That's more like the eight year old."

There's a crackle of paper, and then the man's voice. "_Mira!_" _Look at this_. "Why are you looking for this man?"

"He's dating my sister." Jack's chuckle is cut off with another punch. Mac flinches and rubs the button against the rough spot on the chair a little harder. "My cousin?" Another punch. "_Mi madre?"_

Mac jumps slightly when the edge of the button slices across his finger and he feels warm blood start to drip down. _Okay, sharp enough. _He tries to judge where the edge of the tape holding Jack's wrists is, and slices through it. Jack flinches, and Mac can't tell if it's because he moved his probably badly bruised jaw, or if it's because Mac accidentally cut him.

"Okay, if you know nothing, maybe I will go back to your friend here." This time, Mac jabs Jack with the button on purpose. _Hopefully he realizes what that means. _

Jack starts laughing. The man stops in his tracks and stares at him. "What's so funny?" And then Mac hears the distinctive sound of of Jack's skull slamming into someone else's.

He just shakes his head when Jack stands up and starts tearing the duct tape off Mac's hands. "You know, you could have just punched him."

"Well, a headbutt sends a much clearer message. And besides, I don't want to end up with one of these monstrosities on _my_ hand." Jack nods to the cast as he finishes untying Mac. "Aww man, it tore off the spot where I signed it." He holds up the strip of tape, which is now covered in green cloth webbing with black Sharpie scribble on it.

"Good. I'm tired of people asking me how I got Bruce Willis to sign my cast." Mac rolls his eyes. Jack thought it would be a great joke, and despite the fact that he could easily scribble over it, Mac's left it there because every time he sees it it makes him smile.

Jack leans over the dazed man on the ground. "Okay, my turn, sunshine. Tell me what you know about this guy." He taps the man on the head with the photo of Murdoc.

"Why do you want to know?"

"He's tried to kill me and my friends, and I kinda take that personally." Jack glances back at Mac, and Mac knows there's so much more to it than that. He's still fighting nightmares from those interview sessions.

"Okay, okay. All I know is he wanted to talk to someone called Miguel. He owns a garage in town. That's it, I swear."

Jack punches the guy again for good measure and stands up. "Let's go say hello to Miguel, then."

On the way to the garage Mac calls Riley to update her. She's still working her way through the damage the attack on the Phoenix did to the servers. She'd offered to come with them anyway, but Mac assured her they'd be fine. And really, they are. It's just some bruises and cracked bones.

Jack knocks on the door of the garage, then pushes it open. There's only one person inside, a man leaning down under the hood of a beat up car.

"_Buenos dias! _You Miguel?" Jack shouts.

The man looks up and starts toward them automatically, but Mac can see the second his eyes catch sight of the bruises and blood. _He knows something's not good. _He starts to back away.

"Hey man, we just want to talk." Apparently Jack's not too reassuring with a bloody nose and black eye. Miguel races for a car parked outside, jumps in, and speeds away. Mac and Jack run for the door, but it's too late. The car's already at the corner of the street.

Jack runs back inside, glancing around the shop before hurring to the ancient motorcycle with a sidecar parked in the middle of the room. It's the only thing in the shop that doesn't have its engine torn to pieces.

"Oh, baby, haven't seen one of these in years. Looks like Pops's." He shakes his head as the engine groans but refuses to turn over. "Good thing he didn't listen when Momma told him not to teach me how to ride it."

Mac looks around quickly. He's spent plenty of time in places like this, and he already has an idea. Thanks to years at Weathers's shop, he knows exactly what he's looking for. He snatches a chain, a couple curved wrenches, a piece of metal tubing, and a road hazard flare, then jumps into the sidecar just as Jack succeeds in getting the engine to turn over.

"Man, this is what your heaven looks like, isn't it?" Jack asks.

"Yeah, everything's improvised!"

They roar out of the garage, and take a corner at a speed Mac thinks just might be a bit unsafe. "Say your prayers, Jack's driving!" Jack whoops as they zoom after the car.

Miguel has quite a head start, but it's fairly easy to follow his trail; he's driving a lot faster than a lot of the other people on the road, and there are plenty of horns and shouts to mark his progress. Plus the car he left in was a red convertible, which does make him a little more identifiable. Mac leaves the navigating to Jack and focuses on creating his makeshift grappling hook, it gives him something to focus on that isn't how Jack is going to kill them.

Jack catches up with the car on the highway, overlooking the ocean.

"Get us right behind him," Mac says, putting the finishing touches on his grappling hook contraption.

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" Jack asks.

Mac figures he might as well be honest at this point. "Nope."

"Cool." Jack's voice has that characteristic sound it gets when he's smirking. _Somehow at this point, I think telling him I'm not sure of something is actually reassuring. _He aims carefully and lights the road flare.

The hook scrapes down the back of the car and catches on the bumper, and Mac groans. That won't last long; they'll need to move fast. He secures the chain around part of the bike and slowly works them closer to the car. Once they're close enough, he ignores Jack's wordless warning and raised eyebrows and jumps from the sidecar to the back of the convertible.

The bumper snaps free, and Mac gets a glimpse of Jack's motorcycle weaving wildly before hitting the seawall and tossing Jack into the ocean. He turns back to the driver, who's glanced back to see what the rending screech was. Mac dives forward and grabs for the wheel, and the car fishtails wildly and then heads straight for the same wall Jack just got tossed over.

Mac wonders why his last thought before the car smashes through the seawall is _damn it, they told me not to get my cast wet._

…

ONE MONTH LATER

HOLLYWOOD HILLS, LOS ANGELES

It feels good to be home. Jack tosses his go bag on Mac's porch chair.

They called ahead, so Bozer has the firepit going, Matty, Riley, Cage, and Patty are standing around with drinks already, and Mickey is grabbing excitedly for the rope toy Mac bought for him at a street market in Argentina. Jack swears that dog is twice as big as he was when they left.

He grabs a beer of his own from the fridge and joins the crowd on the patio.

"So, how was the trip?" Bozer asks. He winces when he stands up to give Jack a hug, and Jack wonders if his healed injury is still tender. _Stab wounds are no fun. _

Jack decides to start at the beginning, and with the important stuff. "Cuba was great. I did get to, uh, Evel Knievel a seawall, which was nice, and pick up a box of these bad boys." Jack holds out the box of cigars. Riley reaches for them, but Patty takes them first.

"I think this should just about cover that month of vacation time you requested, Dalton." He groans.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you about sharing?"

"Oh, I'll share," Patty says, opening the box and holding it out to Matty and Riley. "Just not with you."

It's a little odd having her back inside the circle. Especially since she's now Oversight, and their last version never showed his face to any of his underlings. Granted, that was probably because he was a psycho conniving with the Organization, or Omnus, or whatever they were, but still. Having the agency's actual head of operations sitting on the back porch is a little surreal.

Mac finally gets Mickey to stop trying to smother him with licks and joins them. Riley tosses him a beer, and he pops the cap off with his new knife. He's already lost the toothpick, and it's picked up a couple scratches and dings, Jack notices.

"Oh my gosh, Mac, _what_ did you do to your hair?" Bozer asks, as Mac leans forward into the circle of firelight.

Mac shrugs. Jack knows he doesn't want to talk about the guy in that alley in Bosnia who backed him against a wall, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and held a knife to his throat before Jack got there to take him out.

"Jack cut it." It had been a rush job, in a hotel bathroom, at three a.m., after Mac woke up from the same screaming nightmare of Bishop prison for the fourth time. _He wanted to know no one else was going to do that to him. _

"I kind of figured," Riley chuckles. "If you want, I can fix it for you."

"I don't know, Riley, I think the patchy porcupine look is popular right now," Sam cuts in. Mac punches her shoulder. Despite the few incidents on their trip, Jack has noticed that on the whole, Mac's a little sassier and less likely to roll with the punches than he used to be. _Probably a side effect of not having to worry about going back to prison. _Jack likes this new version of Mac.

"So what happened in Cuba besides motorcycle tricks?" Riley asks.

"We did manage to track down a guy who let Murdoc into the country. Unfortunately, he was only picking up some cash and papers from a stash he had there, and then he ghosted. But when we finally got our man Miguel talking, he led us to the stash site, and I guess Murdoc was planning on us paying a visit."

"What do you mean?" Matty asks. "Did he set a trap?"

"Surprisingly no," Mac says. "Murdoc had left a letter there addressed to me." He goes silent, staring into his bottle like there's a message in there too.

Jack picks up the story. "Apparently, his dad's playing 'where in the world is Carmen Sandiego' and Mac's supposed to follow the clues."

"Any luck?" Riley asks.

Jack mentally ticks off the stamps in his passport. "Well, we tracked him to a hostel in Barcelona, a crash pad in Kiev, and then a cabin in Patagonia."

"Which was a dead end, aside from this." Mac lifts his wrist, Jack kind of gets the creeps every time he sees the leather-banded watch there. _Kid's obsessed with tracking down his evil dad. _It can't be healthy how much Mac's fixated on the whole search. _It's one thing that he wants to bring in a guy the Phoenix and every other alphabet agency's been after for years. It's something else entirely that he's willing to play that man's mind games to do it._

Something about the trail they've been following rubs Jack the wrong way. Like James is making Mac prove he's good enough to meet him. _Kid shouldn't have to prove himself to anyone, least of all a scum monster like that. _

"We're gonna get him, Mac," Jack says, rubbing the kid's shoulder before resting his hand there as a reminder that Mac's only reason to find James should be closure. _His family's here now, us_. Mac nods and stares into the fire.

"You know, I used to hope," Mac whispers, and Jack can't tell if he's forgotten they're not alone anymore. These are the kind of conversations usually had in a car staking out a likely hiding place James could have used, or sitting on the edge of a bed in a hotel room when Mac's having a harder time than usual keeping the nightmares at bay. "I used to think he might come back home. I even thought it would be okay if he had another family somewhere. I kind of hoped he did, maybe he loved them more than me and that would explain everything. But I think somehow I knew what he was. I just wanted to lie to myself."

Jack's heard a hundred variations of this over the past month. Coming from anyone else, the repetitive stories would frustrate him, but he can tell Mac's simply trying to process the truth that's been withheld from him for the past fifteen years. _That would do a number on anyone, let alone a kid with Mac's issues._

They shouldn't have even left LA when they did, Patty had wanted Mac to wait until his hand healed. But Mac couldn't bear to be in his own house, wondering if Harry had known. If his grandfather had lied to him all those years. He'd been so desperate for closure. And so far, they have nothing.

Sam's phone rings, and she rolls her eyes and pulls it out, glancing at the screen. Suddenly her face goes white and she stands up, knocking over her beer as she practically jumps over the bench and walks to the deck railing.

Jack can only hear her side of the conversation.

"Are you sure? Oh my God, he's alive?" Her free hand is wrapped white-knuckled around the railing. "They can't do that. They can't abandon him, not now." Jack glances at the others, but even Patty shrugs.

Sam hangs up and turns back around. "I need your help," she says, and her voice is oddly quiet. "We have to save the man who saved my life."

…

THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION

MOST PEOPLE THINK IT'S JUST A THINK TANK

It's odd to see Cage up front doing the briefing. Mac knows she's now classed as a field agent again after everything that happened with the siege of the Phoenix a couple months ago, but he hasn't been around to see that change. Just seeing her in the War Room is somewhat unusual.

There's a dossier on the screen, and a picture of a smiling man in his early forties. Mac recognizes the insignia watermarked on the files as SAS, from the quick rundown Riley gave him of the various covert organizations when they started. Australian field ops agency. He would have expected as much anyway, given that this guy is tied to Sam's past.

Sam's normally composed demeanor is shaken. She's pacing back and forth in front of the screen, arms crossed, and Mac can see her right index finger drumming repetitively on her other arm.

"Roger Marton was the one who pulled me out of a black site prison and offered me another chance." Mac knows the kind of shadowed haunting in her eyes. _When you expect the rest of your life to be spent in a place like that…_

Cage has been a lot more open in talking about her past since Tennant's been captured and her former black agency, Scorpion, is now dissolved. "He had been working an op that tied back to me, and for some reason, when he interviewed me, he decided I was worth trying to flip. He worked out a deal, even though his superiors were strongly against it." This is sounding more and more familiar; Mac blinks away the memories of being cuffed to an interrogation table in California Correctional, listening to Jack and Riley lay out the terms of his release.

_That feels like a lifetime ago. _When they first approached him for his help to track down that stolen virus, he'd had no idea that less than a year later he'd be standing here as a trained Level 1 Phoenix field agent, without a life sentence and charges of murder and domestic terrorism hanging over him. Sometimes he's still afraid he's going to blink and wake up and this will all have been a dream.

"Marton handled my training personally, he might have been the only SAS agent who trusted me not to kill him the second he turned his back. After that, I was his partner for seven months. We ran twenty-three ops together. The last one was a raid on a Syrian terrorist compound." She pulls up a mission briefing that's date-stamped March 2014.

"It was supposed to be a data retrieval mission, but we had bad intel. The second we were inside, we were walking into a trap." She flicks to an action report. "We got made as soon as we entered the building, and ended up having to fight out way out. Marton was wounded and stayed behind to buy me time to get out. He sacrificed his freedom, and at the time I thought his life, to save me."

"But he's alive?" Riley asks.

"This was sent yesterday, to Marton's wife." Cage pulls up the image of an email, the spelling occasionally subpar, that clearly demands a five million dollar ransom for one Roger Marton, to be delivered in a week.

"His wife and parents have started an online fund, hoping to raise the money. Unfortunately, that's the extent of what's being done at this point."

"No one's going after him?" Jack asks.

"The official position of Australian authorities is that this is a hoax." Cage shakes her head, catching a strand of her hair and twisting it. "After no contact or evidence of his survival for two years, and without definite proof of life, this note could be attempting to profit off false hope."

"But you believe it's legitimate." Matty's not asking a question.

"I don't know. Two years is a long time, but if anyone could survive that, it would be Roger." Cage glances back at the dossier photo on the screen. "Even if he is dead, I want to find the people responsible for twisting the knife for his family, and trying to profit off his death. At least it would mean there was some closure."

Jack nods. Mac glances at him; he's heard Jack tell the story of how one of his early missions ended in a man left behind for dead, who later turned out to have been captured and tortured for six months. _He's promised he'll never leave anyone else behind, no matter what._

Patty speaks up, finally. "This is not an officially sanctioned mission. Neither the US government or the Australian authorities have authorized action on this intel. You would have to volunteer, and if you are captured in-country, the agency will deny all connections to you and you will be disavowed."

Mac glances at Cage and he knows exactly how she feels. _What Marton did for her is what Jack and Riley and Thornton and Matty did for me. If any one of them was out there, I wouldn't stop until I brought them home._ Even though the thought of getting disavowed again scares the hell out of him, he's not letting her go alone.

"I'm in."

"Hell yeah. Leave no man behind," Jack says.

"I'm game." Riley and Bozer glance at each other and then yell "jinx", breaking the somber mood for a moment.

"Well, it looks like we're going to Syria," Cage says, and Mac can hear the relief in her voice. "Wheels up in twenty."

…

SOMEWHERE OVER EGYPT

TOO CLOSE TO CAIRO FOR JACK'S TASTE

It feels odd to have Cage on the Phoenix jet. Jack's unable to avoid fidgeting as they pass over Cairo, and of course Sam the mind reader picks up on it. Jack's half tempted to call her Professor X, if he wasn't just a little afraid she might actually be able to kick his ass for it. He's seen the footage of what she did to those Scorpion agents in the Phoenix.

"Impatient, Jack?"

"Just to get out of bad luck central." He's pretty sure she'll mock him for his superstitions, but instead, she just glances out the window.

"Cairo?" She asks. "I can see how the threat of nuclear annihilation would make you a little jumpy."

"How the hell…" _Maybe she actually _is _a mind reader._

"Don't look at me like that. Riley told me everything." She leans back in her chair with the self-satisfied smirk that reminds Jack of the barn cat who taught herself to crack eggs.

Jack shakes his head. Cage has been Riley's roommate the better part of a year, and she's only recently moved out. Now that she's a full field agent, not just a temporary consultant, she gets the perks that come with it, including an apartment; and she's decided to accept it. _Fresh start, and a new place to do it in._ He knows she and Riley didn't have a problem living together, but it probably feels good to have a place all her own. Jack's pretty fond of his space too; comes with the territory of being an agent. But he doesn't have a problem with one particular housemate; he's starting to think the guest room should be more properly called "Mac's room". _The kid needs to feel safe right now._ Jack's lost count of the times Mac fell asleep in his arms over the past month, after a rough nightmare. _He's never been allowed to be scared or to need comfort. _The first time it happened, Mac kept apologizing. Jack quickly realized that physical comfort is apparently just another thing James taught Mac he didn't deserve. _That man didn't deserve a son like Mac._ Not that Jack does either, but he's trying to do his best. _Kid deserves better than me, but I'm gonna try._

Riley is curled up on another couch, Jack has half a mind to go scold her for spilling the Cairo secret, but she's sleeping so he decides he'll pester her later.

Mac shouts an indefinable successful cheer from the back of the plane, where he and Bozer have been playing Uno for what seems like forever. Jack hears Mac get up and walk over to where he and Cage are sitting; the kid's step pattern is burned into Jack's brain. _How did I get attached so fast?_ Calling Mac "Carl's Jr." and second-guessing his crazy methods seems like something another person did. _Sometimes I feel really guilty for how badly I treated him._ But there's nothing Jack can do about it now, and Mac doesn't seem to hold it against him.

When Mac sits down, he's fiddling with that damn watch again. He keeps twisting it, and it's rubbing a raw red line around his wrist. Jack hates that it looks a little like the kind of damage handcuffs leave.

"I'm surprised you decided to wear that on a field op," Cage says.

"It's just a watch," Mac mumbles.

"No, I think you just don't want to let it out of your sight. It's the only thing you have to still tie you to James, and it's the last clue you found. Even though you don't know what it means." Jack smiles. Sam's blunt, perceptive honesty is painful when directed at him, but he's glad she's willing to call Mac out.

"I just don't understand." He twists the band again. "There's nothing written on it, it doesn't mean anything, really. He just always wore it. And before you ask, it's the same watch, see how the gold line for the 11 is loose and stuck to the crystal?" he taps the glass. "He never fixed that. He took that watch apart all the time, working on the gears and movement, but he never repaired the face."

"Could that be a clue?"

"Believe me, that's the first thing I thought of. But the number 11 doesn't have any special significance, and besides, the watch was like this long before he left."

Jack sighs, settling back a little further into his chair. They know nothing. But Mac won't let go.

…

OUTSIDE ISTANBUL

HOPEFULLY

Sam huddles under the straw, trying not to breathe too deeply and praying one of the goats doesn't find her headscarf appetizing. She's never been a fan of sneaking through borders like this, some checkpoint guards are more thorough than others. And it absolutely ruins clothes. Still, she thinks the chicken truck in Mexico was probably the worst experience.

She can hear yelling in Turkish as the truck grinds to a rattling halt, and even though the sound is muffled by straw, she can tell the driver is being asked to stop for a search. She holds her breath, as much to keep from sneezing on the powerful smell of goat as to avoid detection by someone overhearing her breaths. There's a swish and thud as something sharp is jabbed into the straw just beside her head.

She and Jack put Mac between them, in the very center of the vehicle. It's the safest spot, in theory. If the guards prod around the outside edges, they might not be able to reach that far. If they think something's wrong and decide to start shooting, that's another matter entirely, but then no place is safe anyway.

There's a soft grunt, and Cage flinches. _Did they hit Jack?_ She braces herself for the shouts and gunfire, but nothing happens, and she dimly hears someone bang on the side of the truck and yell at them to go on.

When the rattletrap vehicle stops at the edge of an abandoned town, Cage slides out, shaking out her headscarf and rewrapping it carefully, handing the driver the rest of the money she promised him. This is as far as he's going in their direction.

Mac and Jack are crawling out the the straw as well, both of them taking grateful breaths of fresh air and brushing at their clothes.

"I thought they had you back there at the checkpoint," Sam says as Jack joins her, slapping exaggeratedly at the straw on his chest.

"Damn goat stepped on my hand," Jack mutters. "Man, they stink. Give me a good old cow pie any day over these things." He waves a hand in front of his face and brushes some straw out of his short hair.

Mac brushes straw out of his own hair, although in actuality it's hard to see the difference between the pale stalks of dried grass and Mac's blond hair. Riley did actually tidy it up a little on the flight, it looks marginally less like someone hacked it off with a blunt knife. Sam switches on her comms, there shouldn't be anyone scanning for radio traffic here in the middle of nowhere.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," Riley says. "You're through the most problematic checkpoint, but you're still thirty miles from where I've tracked that terror cell's ransom message's origin. Bozer and I are going to be here to provide overwatch until you get there, but I can't find you another transportation method."

Sam glances around her at the bombed-out town, cars torched or cannibalized for parts. "I guess we're walking."

"Not necessarily." Mac is kicking around the weeds, and he holds up an old M-134. "One of these cars is only missing a starter. I think I might be able to get it running."

Sam glances at the vehicle in question, an old beige sedan with smashed-out windows and one flat tire. _It looks past repair to me. But I guess I of all people should know not to give up on things. _

Mac glances around. "Jack, see if you can find the supplies to change a tire. That car over there is only burnt out in the front, and these models are old enough that the tires are probably interchangeable, at least for the amount of time we'll be driving. Sam, siphon all the gas you can from every car that doesn't look like it's been here too long, and run it through a piece of your scarf into this can." He tosses her one he's pulled out of the car trunk, closing his knife. She guesses he used a blade to pop the trunk lock.

She finds an old hose behind one of the buildings, next to a weedy, wild garden, and cuts off a length. Siphoning petrol is old news to her, and in labout half an hour she has the can mostly filled.

She's walking back to where Jack is dusting off his hands and Mac is putting the finishing touches on wiring the mini-gun motor to the car's engine.

Jack joins her where she's pouring fuel through a folded scrap of her scarf into the car's tank. "You do realize the government is probably right about this, and your friend is dead, right?"

Sam knows. She's been trying not to remember, this whole time. But the truth is, statistically, Marton is probably long gone. But she tries not to let Jack see how badly the thought affects her. _Bottle up the emotions until the mission is over._ That's one thing SAS and Scorpion had in common.

"Then at least I get the satisfaction of finding the bastards trying to profit off his death and breaking some bones." She smiles, but she's sure both of them know it's not genuine.

She sets down the empty can, and rejoins Mac at the front of the car. "Well, are you ready to see if this works?"

Her comms buzz, and Riley's voice comes through, sharp and urgent. "Guys, you've got company. Something big just turned down your road, and it's coming fast."

And then the quiet desert air is cut by the rumble of something approaching. Between the trees, Cage catches sight of camouflage canvas and thick tires. _Turkish military patrol._ If they get caught here, they're done. But she does have an idea.

Mac and Jack are both staring at the approaching vehicle as well. "Do you trust me?" She asks. Both of them nod. And then Sam snatches her gun from her thigh holster and trains it on Jack, just as the truck turns a corner and comes into full view of them.

She switches expertly to Turkish, praying her accent is still passable. "_Get down. Down on the ground. Or I will shoot you."_

Mac and Jack slowly comply, raising their hands. The truck stops and two of the soldiers jump out, turning their own guns on Mac and Jack. Sam turns to the man who approaches her, making sure her scarf still covers most of her face.

"_I caught these two trying to steal a car. There are more Americans in a building, in there." _She gestures to the town, and the man with the highest-rank insignia on his uniform waves to the vehicle and shouts. Four more soldiers scramble out of the back and follow him into the village.

_Okay, two is good odds._

Cage smiles at the man left to help her guard her 'prisoners', and then smashes her elbow into his jaw. He goes down hard, and she fires a single shot over him through the windshield of the truck, not to hit the driver, but to scare him. He ducks, predictably, and she wrenches open the door and yanks him out onto the ground, slamming his head into her knee to knock him out.

She scrambles into the truck. "Get in, let's go."

Mac and Jack scramble in the other side, Jack pausing to shoot out two of the tires of the car they just spent the better part of an hour repairing.

"Sorry about wrecking your plan, Mac," she says apologetically.

"I don't even know if it was going to work." He shrugs, but she can tell it bothers him that he didn't get to test his theory. _When we get home, I'll find a junker somewhere and let him rip it apart. _"Besides, we should be able to get past the rest of the checkpoints without a problem, with this vehicle."

Cage nods, that was her plan. No one should question a military vehicle. At least not until they're long gone.

…

TEN MILES FROM THE TERRORISTS

AND GETTING CLOSER

"That was one badass Jedi mind trick back there, Sam," Jack says. He's leaning on the window, watching the scenery go past, trying not to think about all the missions he's been on in places like this. In vehicles like this.

"I'm just glad they didn't realize my accent was a fake." Sam looks jittery too. Jack can't tell if this is flashback central for her too, or if it's just wanting to find out what's waiting for them at the end of this. "It's been a long time since I've been in this part of the world."

Jack nods. "So quitting the field… was that because of Marton?"

"No." Sam shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "I was a field operative for a year and a half after Syria. Roger wouldn't have wanted me to quit. He didn't save my life for me to walk away from the things he believed in. He died, or I thought he did, fighting for a cause he was willing to sacrifice everything for. The best way to honor his memory was to continue his legacy."

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you leave?" Mac grabbed some of the extra wires while he was working on the car, and he's twisting one into a shockingly accurate outline of the continent of Australia.

"I was on an undercover operation in Singapore, and our covers were blown. One agent was injured and died during exfil, another still walks with a cane, and that's where I got this." She nods to a long scar just visible below her rolled sleeve; Jack recognizes it as the surgical scar for repairing a damaged elbow joint. One of the ranch hands has the same thing, after he got thrown by a greenbroke filly and got all busted up.

"I was able to identify the man who turned us in when I got a look at security footage after the op. He was Scorpion. Which meant that they knew I was working with the SAS now, that I was a major liability. Any time I showed my face, it would put every member of my team at risk. So I immediately transferred to an in-house position, and then when the opportunity came up to join DXS and move to another country, I took it." She smiles a little. "I've had no reason to regret it."

"Alright, guys, you're right on top of the location," Riley says, and all three of them jump. Jack glances through the truck window at what must be their target, a two-story concrete building that just _looks_ nefarious. He's always had a sort of sixth sense about these things, saved his ass in the Sandbox more than once.

"Yeah Riles, we've got a two story building with bars on every window, and…" He pulls out a pair of binoculars, "Looks like heavy gauge locks on every one of the lower level doors."

"Exactly the kind of security upgrades you'd want if you were holding a high value military hostage." There's a bit of excitement seeping through Cage's voice, and Jack can't blame her. He knows what it's like to want to bring every man home.

_The last guy my team left was gone for six months, and it almost broke me...and him. I can't imagine what two years did for Cage and Marton._

"Hey Mac, I'm guessing you gotta plan for getting us in there?" Jack asks. The kid's staring at the building, eyes narrowed in that look Jack knows means he's thinking.

"Yeah, I think I do." He looks from the visible portico on the second level to a dilapitated chain-link fence nearby. "We're gonna need that pipe."

…

Mac snips the few remaining wires holding the twelve-foot section of fence pipe in place, and he and Jack and Cage pull it free. _This should work. In theory._ He ignores the fact that the last time he tried it, he ended up on the ground with a bruised butt and a sprained wrist. _Bozer and I were using a branch, and it snapped. This won't do that. _He'd lost his interest in trying to be an even more sciency version of Spiderman for quite a while after that.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to grab the back of that pole to anchor me."

"Anchor you for what?" Cage asks. Mac knows she's never seen him work in the field, at least not very often. She's read the action reports, and seen footage when they have it, but it's really not the same as being on the ground in the thick of it.

"I've learned not to ask," Jack says. "When it comes to Mac, I think the best option is just blind faith."

Mac wishes he was as sure as Jack apparently is that this is going to work. Hopefully rambling about science will help. "Well, I'm going to use this pole to overcome the force of gravity."

"You'e going to pole vault into a terrorist lair? Man, that's awesome," Jack chuckles.

"No, not exactly. I need both of you to walk this back, and then when I say, run straight toward the building, pushing up. It should give me enough support that I can walk up this wall."

"We'd better do it fast. I haven't seen a guard come around yet," Sam mutters. Mac nods. He glances up at the wall and really wishes he'd had time to make some improvised climbing spikes.

"Okay, three, two, one...now!" He braces his feet on the wall and starts up, as Jack and Cage put pressure on the pipe. It's not the fastest process, and his heart is pounding as much from the stress of worrying a guard is going to walk around any second and shoot them as from the feeling of being too far off the ground.

There's a moment of panic when the pipe reaches its full extension, and the momentum ends. Mac feels himself starting to fall, but he shoves off the wall as hard as he can, throwing himself across to the railing of the little overhang and grabbing on. He has to take a few deep breaths before he can pull himself up and over.

Inside, the building is quiet, and there's a disconcerting smell. Mac immediately recognizes it as a combination of human habitation and decay. He hopes these guys are just less than scrupulous about their trash pickup, but he has a really bad feeling about this. There's no sound coming from anywhere, and he can hear flies buzzing frantically behind a door in the hallway.

He doesn't want to be in here without backup. He sneaks down to the main level, more worried about not meeting a guard than if there was one. _What happened? Did they leave? Are we going to find Marton's body in here? _

He unlocks one of the doors and peeks out. Jack and Sam are crouched in a corner, mostly hidden from view. He calls them over comms and they pop out from their cover and hurry to the door. "What's going on?" Jack asks.

"I don't know. It seems deserted." Jack and Cage draw their sidearms and step inside, carefully sweeping the whole first floor. There's nothing there.

They make their way up to the second, and Mac forces the lock on the room he heard the buzzing coming from. When he opens the door, he steps back, gasping and then choking on the smell. There are five men in the room, all dead.

Jack steps inside, apparently oblivious to the stench. "Two shots, center mass. Whoever did this was a professional."

"Probably more than one someone," Cage says. "This was fast, they never even got their weapons up to fire. It was a surprise attack."

"And look what's missing." Jack glances at the floor.

"Shell casings," Sam says. "They picked all of them up. Whoever did this, they were professionals."

"Yeah, but what pros? Third party agency or rival terrorist cell?" Jack mutters. Mac glances at the floor again, mostly to avoid the sight of the staring blank eyes, and he sees a faint scuff mark near a set of shelving.

"Guys, I think there's a secret room back here." Jack helps him pull the shelving aside, and the movement reveals a small cell, with manacles on the wall and a torn straw-stuffed mattress on the floor.

Sam pushes past them both, kneeling down by the wall and using the tactical light on her handgun to illuminate something scratched into the plaster. "It was Marton. He was here, he was alive." She points to a letter and two numbers crudely carved into the wall. "T-31 is short for Tiger 31, his agency callsign."

"So our dude was here, but then someone else showed up, popped off the guards, and snatched him?" Jack says. "They didn't bother to shoot him here, so they must have wanted him. But they haven't turned him in either. Who are these guys?"

"I might be able to help with that," Riley says over comms. "Guys, your phones just did a digital handshake with an open Wi-Fi router there, with the same IP as the ransom note was sent from. I'm going to scan the network and see if any other devices did the same."

Mac steps out of the room, and Jack and Cage do the same. It seems even they're starting to be affected by the smell.

It doesn't take Riley long to get what she needs. "I've got five signals, not ones that normally used the network, popping up for about ten minutes twenty-three hours ago." Riley pauses, and Mac hears a few more keystrokes. "About two hours after that ransom message was sent."

"That's too fast to have had any tactical response team in the area," Cage says.

"Looks like someone else was snooping around, and when these guys sent out that note, they gave away their location. They were hoping for a payday, and they ended up getting full of lead." Jack glances at the room behind them. "Any chance you can find where those phones are now?"

"They were burners, so they've been dumped. But I can track where they've been." Riley taps away. "Okay, the only locations where all of them were together were there at that compound, and here." There's a beep, and a set of coordinates flashes up on Mac's phone. He hears the others' ping as well.

"Then let's get going." Mac's only too glad to leave that place behind.

…

ISTANBUL

NOT THE TOURISTY PART

"This is it?" Jack glances up at the fortress surrounding them. "That's a fortress, man. Probably got a moat and a drawbridge and everything. I don't do castles, Mac. I always die in Dungeons and Dragons."

"Dungeons and Dragons?" Cage asks, at the same time that Mac mutters something about this being a _hisar_.

"Riley was really into it when she lived in Portland. Guess she'd been doing it since she was a kid. It was a big deal when she was actually home for a game night." He used to drive her to the coffeehouse and sit and wait for her to get done playing for the night.

"I know _that,_" Cage says, grinning. "She and I still have a campaign running. I'm an elvish warrior…"

"And she's still an archer, right?" Jack asks.

"Well, it's a little more complicated than that…"

"That _game_ is too damn complicated. Too many stats and math and stuff. I tried to play but it was just too much."

"The way I hear it, you got kicked out for being disruptive." Sam smirks.

"Hey! I was a wandering bard. I was just trying to get into character." Jack stops, and realizes Mac's been rambling on to himself this whole time.

"It's one of the castles built by the sultans of the Ottoman Empire between 1299 - and 1453 A.

D.," Mac continues. "Riley, can you get a map of it?"

"A map you can get on Wikipedia. I'm getting full schematics of all defensive upgrades since this _hisar_ was built."

"And?"

"Give me a minute, Jack, I'm hacking the secured network of a foreign government in a language I don't speak. But also, I'm totally in."

Bozer chimes in. "So we're looking at a 6,000 square foot building, with two levels, not including the basement. And 13, 14, 15 rooms, which is bad because Marton could be in any one of them."

"I might be able to narrow that down for us." Riley continues typing. "There's a video feed being recorded inside, and the camera is attched to a wireless streaming app. But the signal is too weak for me to hack it. I need to be able to bounce it off something else in the building I have access to."

"What about a phone? If we could get one inside, could you use that?"

"It would probably boost the signal strength enough. But how are you going to get one in there?" Mac glances out at a group of kids kicking around a makeshift soccer ball made out of newspapers and plastic bags.

"I think I know."

…

Jack watches Mac wander out into the square and start talking to the kids. He takes a few paperclips out of his pocket, bends them into some sort of shape, it's too far away for Jack to see, and hands them to the kids.

In return, they toss him the makeshift soccer ball they've been kicking around. Mac walks back with the ball under his arm and a genuine grin on his face. _He loves kids so much._ Jack remembers him playing with the Dalton family nephews and nieces at Christmas. _He would have been so good as a teacher. _But now that's not going to happen, no one's going to let someone with Mac's criminal past anywhere near children.

Mac makes some modifications to the ball, adjusting strings and digging into the mangled center of it. He holds out his hand. "Phone, Jack?"

"Hell no, man. Use your own damn phone this time." Now that he's off the most severe restrictions of his parole, Mac's phone isn't being monitored. He can break it without repercussions, and that makes Jack almost pathetically gleeful. _He's destroyed thirty-seven phones to date, most of them mine. _The Genius Bar is keeping a running tally. And that doesn't count the times Mac's taken one of their phones and done something that leaves it still mostly in one piece.

Mac sighs, but digs his own phone out of his pocket. It's still pretty new, they had to replace all their tech after that unplanned swim in Kiev. He shoves the phone into the center of the ball, and then glances from it to an open window on the second floor. "Now, we just need to get it into one of those windows."

"I can do that," Jack says, taking the ball from him. Really, he just wants an excuse to boot Mac's phone at something. Finally.

Cage reaches for the ball as well. "I played soccer from the time I was four all the way through...well, until I left home."

Jack doesn't let go, fully aware that this is petty. _But we're finally using Mac's phone for one of his crazy plans. _"Yeah? Yeah? And I was the kicker for my middle school football team, okay? I once had six field goals in one game. That's a division record."

"You did say middle school, though, right?" Cage shakes her head.

"And who has been actually out in the field in the past year, keeping up their targeting skills and muscle tone?" Jack asks, smirking.

Mac cuts in, looking seriously embarrassed at their antics. "Settle this like adults, okay?"

"Okay, fine." Cage raises a fist, and so does Jack. _Oh you wanna go rock-paper-scissors for this?_ He knows he probably doesn't have a prayer of winning against her. _Just hope my eye doesn't start twitching again._

"Not exactly what I had in mind," Mac mumbles.

Jack wonders if it's possible to out-think the mind reader. _The way I play, it's second nature to switch to some other thing after doing the rock fist three times already, and scissors is the easiest to change to. But if she plays by making each of the shapes in turn, the next logical progression is rock again. But she'll know that, so she'll choose something else on purpose to compensate, because she'll expect _me _to go to the easiest one._ So paper is probably his best bet..._Or will she anticipate that...now I just sound like Vizzini in _The Princess Bride. _I'm way overthinking this._

Jack watches as Cage's fist pounds into her palm twice closed, and in that split second he knows exactly what his plan is. Jack pounds his fist into his palm three times and then flattens his hand into paper. Cage's hand stays closed in a rock fist, and she sighs. _Yep, she was counting on me doing the normal scissors thing._

"Give me that thing." He snatches the soccer ball back, and then kicks it. It sails through the air in a smooth arc...and bounces off the wall a good five feet from the window.

"My turn, Beckham," Cage chuckles.

Jack hands it over without a fight, he got what he wanted. _The only thing better would be to break the phone completely, but that would kinda defeat the purpose and it would probably mean Mac would take mine._

"Okay, Riley, you've got eyes inside, do your thing."

"I've managed to hack their camera and turn on the video streaming. I'm hijacking the feed and sending it to your phone now."

Jack pulls out his phone and glances at it. There's a heavily bearded man sitting tied in a chair, with two men flanking him and a third somewhere in the shadows. He holds the phone out to Cage. "Hey, that look like your guy?"

"That's him. That's Roger." Sam sounds absolutely elated.

Then the man in the corner moves a bit more into the light, and Jack nearly drops his phone. _It's him. What the hell?_

"Riley, zoom in on that guy in the back."

"The one in the funky hat?" Bozer asks.

"Yeah." The video enlarges, and there's no mistaking it. "That's the Ten of Spades."

Mac frowns, and Jack decides it's his turn to give a complicated explanation for once. "When they sent us to Iraq in '04, they gave us all decks of cards so we could memorize the faces of high-value targets." They're still burned into his brain. "Iraqi Minister of Defense was the Eight of Hearts. Saddam was the Ace of Spades, and that barrel of monkeys right there, he was the Ten. Tahir Ali al-Tikriti. A commander in the Iraqi Republican Guard and the last uncaptured war criminal of Saddam's regime. We've got everyone else in the deck, but the Ten of Spades was never found."

"If we play our cards right, we can get him right now." Sam smirks a little. "That's an interior room, reinforced walls, no natural light source."

"Those plans showed a room in the basement, right in the center. That could be it." Jack says. "Now that we have proof of life, we can get a strike team."

"Guys, you don't have time for that." Riley cuts in. "There's a livestream scheduled for two hours from now. I think they're going to kill Marton on live video."

…

Jack glances at his watch. "Well, this ain't good." He knows that's the understatement of the year. "Looks like if we wanna keep your friend alive, we're gonna have to breach this place ourselves." _Damn, it really does feel like a DnD campaign._

"Sam, how would you do it?" She's the one who's been storming imaginary castles with Riley every week.

"Optimally, I'd wait until cover of darkness and parachute in. But we don't have a plane, or parachutes…" Mac starts to object. "And we don't have time."

Jack glances at the plans again, and when he taps on the image that shows the basement room, trying to zoom in, a couple lines of red text pop up on the screen. _Damn technology; I hate things that pop up like this._ And then Jack sees something that might be exactly what they need.

"Hey, uh, Riley. My Turkish is a little rusty. Can you translate that text?"

"All right, it says, 'The foundation was repaired in 1998 using the beam and base underpinning method'."

"And that helps us how, exactly?" Cage asks.

Jack is grinning, the beginnings of a plan taking shape. "My uncle Tony used to be a house flipper. He'd buy a crappy place, fix it up, and sell it, before doing that was a big thing. I helped him for a couple summers. One house we worked on was over a natural aquifer, and we used that method to reinforce the foundation. It's used when the ground beneath the building is unable to bear the load."

"Riley, can you switch to a radar view?" Mac asks. He's catching on.

"Are those…" Riley trails off.

"Tunnels."

"Actually, they're catacombs. The Romans built them everywhere," Mac says. "That's our way in."

"The closest entry point is three miles away," Sam points out. "Are you going to just walk in there, grab him, and walk out?"

"Oh no, we'd never make it," Mac says. "I'm going to swim."

"But the catacombs aren't flooded."

"Not yet." Mac glances around, looking at the building guards. "But we're going to need a big distraction up top to cover what I'm doing down below."

"Consider it done. Bozer and I are en route."

"You need to stay put," Jack says. "Mac needs you on comms to direct him through the creepy Indiana Jones maze down there, and Bozer's not getting anywhere near sharp objects for a while."

"I'm coming," Boze insists. "Mac needs my help, that's what I'm here for."

"Okay, fine, but you're gonna be recon only, got it?" Jack is not going to be responsible for losing Mac's best friend.

"Have fun stormin' the castle," Riley says. _I think it is gonna take a miracle to get us in there_.

…

WAREHOUSE OUTSIDE ISTANBUL

SAM'S BARTERING SKILLS ARE STILL INTACT

Sam pushes open the warehouse door and is instantly hit with an overpowering smell. She pulls the scarf she just purchased a little further over her face. It smells like horse and smoke and sweat, but it's better than the chemical odor permeating the room. "I was able to get enough clothes for Jack, Bozer, and I from a local farmer." She sets the pile on the table. "How's it going here?"

Mac looks up from something cylindrical, waving greasy hands. "I'm just finishing up with this thing."

"What is this?" Sam's seen his work before, but usually only small scale. The car today and now this...it's impressive.

"It's a, uh, diver propulsion vehicle. Well, it's my quick and dirty version of one. It's how I'm gonna get through the three miles of catacombs so quickly." She watches him take a deep breath before reaching for a screwdriver. _Yeah, I'd be worried too._ Just the thought of being down there in underground caves full of water is giving her the jitters.

She follows her nose to the source of the smell. "Jack, how's it coming over here?"

"Oh, well, it stinks to high heaven, but it's getting really thick." He holds up a spoonful of pale goop. "Look at that."

"Thick is good. That means it's ready." Mac walks over and takes the pail from Jack, starting to scoop half the contents onto a piece of newspaper.

"That looks like C4."

"Or at least the MacGyver version of it," Jack says. "Trust him to know how to make something that goes boom out of whatever he sees laying around." Mac sets the paper-wrapped goo in an old paint can.

"Jack, I need your watch." Jack sighs, but unstraps it.

"As long as it's not my phone, man."

Mac fiddles with the watch, then attaches it to the can and hands the whole thing to Jack. "Jack…"

"Don't agitate the explosive. Yeah, I got it."

"No. It's not shock sensitive. I was just gonna say, "hurry"." Mac taps a crude drawing he's made that shows the nearby aquifer and dam. "You have to put it right in the middle here, between the two I-beams." Jack nods and rushes off.

Mac dumps the rest of the explosive into another can and wraps that one tightly in plastic bags, and then he and Sam climb into the car she 'borrowed' and drive off to the spot where they'll be able to access the catacombs through the sewer system.

When they pry the cover off the manhole, Cage flinches. _It's so dark down there._ It's too much like night. Like an empty road, lit for a second by blinding oncoming headlights until everything goes dark. Until she wakes up in the seat of a car with her legs pinned and water rushing through smashed windows.

She shakes off the flashbacks. _That was always my weakness in the field. Ops that had anything to do with water. _She vividly remembers SAS swim and dive training. Being held underwater, panicking, scrambling desperately to get free and get out, forgetting every training move in a surge of blind fear.

She remembers the first desperate gasp, the water flooding her lungs, smothering her scream. And Roger instantly letting go, snatching her arms, pulling her to the surface and out of the pool, pounding her chest until she could breathe again and wrapping a towel around her shoulders, sitting with her until the shakes stopped.

_It got better, thanks to him._ She knows she was lucky to have such a patient mentor. _And if all goes well, pretty soon I'll get to thank him in person. _

There's a sound in the bushes on the side of the road, and Sam pulls her gun and aims at it. "Whoa, hey, just me." Jack steps out of the trees, hands raised. "Your Campbell's Chunky Boom Boom's in place." Jack grins. "And should be going off right about now."

"Perfect. Now I just need you to help me get this equipment down here." Mac sits down on the edge of the hole, dangling his legs in."

"Mac." Jack puts a hand on his shoulder. "It should be me that goes in there, man. There's some bad dudes down there, and…"

"And if anything goes wrong, I'm just gonna have to improvise. I'm the only one who can fix this thing," Mac taps on the propulsion vehicle's housing, "if it breaks down. I'll be fine."

Sam checks her watch. "We've got 30 minutes till they live-stream Marton's murder. Are you sure that's enough time?"

"It's gonna have to be. That shaped charge is gonna punch a hole in the dam and it's gonna flood the catacombs. Then after about 20 minutes, that pressure's gonna widen the hole."

"Then the whole damn dam comes down." She swallows. _Unrelenting, uncontrollable chaos. That amount of water flooding through an enclosed space..._

"Good luck down there, Mac." And then he drops into the darkness.

…

Mac tries not to think of all the ways this could go wrong. _The oxygen hose could break or snag on something. The propulsion unit could break down. I could have put too much explosive in the can and not have enough to get to Marton. And that could also mean the dam weakens faster than expected. I could get washed away and drown down here somewhere. _And that doesn't even take into account the terrorists with guns who would very much like to kill him if they see him.

He's got the improvised oxygen mask on, and he's kneeling at the edge of a pit that is now filled with water. It's getting higher, starting to lap at his shoes. Mac shivers. The tunnels are cool already, and the water, coming as it does from the bottom of a holding aquifer, is icy. He takes a deep breath and drops through the hole into the murky depths.

The initial shock of cold makes him tense and take an even deeper breath. He tries to steady himself, the oxygen still needs to last for the return trip too. He flicks on the propulsion vehicle and feels it drag him along. He has to be careful not to slam into the walls or go too far up and catch his back or head on the uneven ceiling.

By the time he gets to the location Riley says should be his exit point, he's shivering uncontrollably. He uses a tiny bit of the explosive to blow a hole above him, lifts his little vehicle out, pulls off the oxygen mask, and glances around the tunnel. It's almost colder out of the water than in it.

"Mac, you okay?" He can hear the relief in Riley's voice when he answers in the affirmative. "You're now in the corridors right beneath the compound. You see a tunnel leading off to the east? 137 paces down that hall puts your right beneath Marton's cell."

He starts off, rubbing his arms. _I can't wait to get out of here._

"Okay, you're right underneath him." Mac stops, unwrapping his can of homemade C-4 and glancing up.

"H-how big did you s-say that r-room was?" He hates that she can probably hear his teeth chattering in his trembling voice.

"Ten-by-ten. But Mac, I can't tell where exactly in the room Marton is. If you breach the wrong spot in the floor…" _I could kill him. Yeah, I know._ He may have gotten the charges dropped for the death of George Ramsay, but the thought of killing anyone with what he does is still terrifying.

"N-not gonna happen. I'm br-bringing the floor t-to me." Mac carefully rolls the explosives and marks off the room dimensions above him. His hands aren't shaking now, he can't afford that.

"Okay, Jack and Cage have their attention. Time to do your thing."

Mac sets off the explosives and ducks, covering his head with his arms and dust and stone and shards of tile rain down. The whole floor collapses into the center of the space, and Mac blinks at the sudden light. He runs to the single occupied chair and pulls out his knife, cutting away the gag and ropes holding Marton in place. The second he does, he finds himself pinned to the wall with an arm across his throat. Marton may be haggard and emaciated, but his reflexes are still impressive.

"Roger Marton?" Mac chokes out.

"Who are you?" The man asks, or rather growls. Mac knows the sound of a disused voice, he heard it echo around him in solitary far too often. _When there's no one to talk to, you kind of don't see the point in doing it at all._ _Talking to yourself just makes you feel like you're losing your grip on your sanity even faster._ He'd bet that's what the past two years have been like for Marton.

"A friend of Samantha Cage's."

The arm relaxes. "Sam's here?"

"Yeah, she's just outside; keeping them distracted."

"I should have known it was her when I heard the commotion," Marton chuckles. And then Mac hears a door fly open and bullets ping off the stone around them.

"Run!"

…

Jack watches with concern as Bozer loiters around the entrance to the building. He's the least likely to set off warning signals; he's not a seasoned field operator but that means his face isn't common knowledge. After hearing about Cage's blown op in Singapore, Jack's just a little paranoid. _Scorpion may be gone, but there's still a lot of people probably floating around, who slipped through our fingers and joined up with other nasty little groups._ And seeing as one of his own experiences in Turkey was less than stellar…

Bozer steps aside and speaks into his comms. He's way too obvious about switching his on, Jack's going to have to give him a crash course in field stealth at some point. "Front entrance has three guards, all armed. Two on the roof, two in the courtyard." _Okay, and a crash course in how to to sound exactly like you're in a cheesy spy flick. _

"Got it. Stay put and stay safe, Bozer. We don't need anybody else putting any more holes in you, man." He hears the exasperated sigh from the other end of the line.

Sam breaks cover first. She walks up to one of the guards and asks him something in Turkish. The next second, she's yanking him over the stair railing, grabbing his gun, and popping off the two guys on the roof before they can get a shot off.

"Hey, leave a few for me!" Jack scolds jokingly as he rushes over, taking out another guard on the way. "You just got back in the field, aren't you supposed to be taking it easy or something?"

She shakes her head. "Maybe, if you can't keep up, you're the one who needs to quit field work, Jack."

He glances over the railing and takes down another guard. "There, now who's not keeping up?"

"Still you!" Sam takes aim and shoots one more guard, as Jack does the same. "That's all the front accounted for. Almost too easy." She vaults over the railing and starts to run up the stairs to the door.

Jack grabs Cage's arm. "We just need to keep their attention."

"We've come this far, the Ten of Spades is _right there._" Sam gestures to the _hisar_. "Roger would want me to finish the mission."

"But the Ten isn't the mission."

"He is now." She steps through the door. "Cover me." Jack sighs. _Guess we're doing this._ He hears a muffled rumble from below them and grins. _Mac's blowin' stuff up again. Good for him._

Riley's voice comes through the comms. "Guys, Mac's got the package and he's on his way out. I'm coming to you to back you up."

"Sounds good. Let's get him." Jack slams a fresh clip into his gun. _He's not getting away from me again. _

…

Riley stashes her rig in the van they're using as a command center and checks her sidearm mag. _Fully loaded and one in the chamber._ She's noticed that she obsesses about that now. Ever since the Phoenix siege, she's found herself at the practice range more often, and she checks every once in a while, with a desperate compulsion, to make sure her gun is loaded and her backup mag is with her.

What happened with Horn in the server room shook her more than she'll admit. _I could have died, easily. _It was sheer luck that his shot missed her. _I can't count on getting that lucky again._

She passes the bodies on the steps and portico, and flinches slightly. They do what has to be done, but it's still a little chilling.

She's sure Jack and Cage have cleared the front rooms already, and pulls out her phone to see if she can ping their location and meet up with them. There's a faint scraping creak from somewhere to her left, and she spins around just in time to see a bookshelf now ajar and the muzzle of a gun leveled at her head.

_Breach warning alarms screaming, server vent fans whirring, no time to think, no time to brace for impact._ She breathes and swallows and the sunlit palace room is back. But the gun's still very much there.

She recognizes the face behind it. The Ten of Spades himself. _He must have hidden in a secret room. Jack and Cage walked right past him._ She really, really hopes Jack doesn't blame himself too much when he realizes what happened.

"Get on your knees." Riley doesn't move. She's going to die on her feet, because this man is going to shoot her anyway. _If he wants to kill me, he's going to have to look me in the eyes and do it._ "I said, kneel!" The gun jabs toward her.

"Not to men like you." _Jack would appreciate the Marvel reference. _It's not half bad, as last words go. She thinks a fictional old German man would agree.

And then there's a cracking thud. Riley blinks involuntarily, flinching, but the Ten is falling to the floor, and Bozer pops up from behind him, grinning.

"It was Mr. Bozer, in the living room, with the candlestick." His fake British accent is atrocious, and Riley chuckles hysterically.

"God, I'm glad to see you." She wants to hug him but she's not too sure she can move

"_Avengers,_ Riley? Really? Not even Bruce Willis?" Bozer shakes his head. "Jack's gonna be disappointed."

"It fit the context."

"Wait, does that make me Captain America then?"

"Not even close." And then the doors burst open and Jack and Cage rush in.

"What the hell happened?" Jack asks.

"We found your guy," Bozer says. Riley glances down at her hand. It's shaking, and her gun is gripped in a white-knuckled grasp.

Jack notices at the same time she does. "Riley, what happened?"

"He got the jump on me. I froze," she admits softly. "Boze saved my life."

Jack pulls her into a hug. "It's okay, kiddo, it's okay." She can hear him starting to choke up, and she wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

"We've got him, let's get to exfil." Sam, ever the practical one, speaks up. She grabs one of the Ten's arms, and Jack gets the other, and all of them hurry out to the van.

Sam drives, and Bozer rides shotgun. Riley sits in the back with Jack, trying not to look at the man on the floor in front of them. Jack is definitely starting to freak out, he's systematically disassembling his sidearm.

"Jack, what's wrong?"

"It's my fault," he mumbles.

"What are you talking about?"

"If that son of a bitch shot you, that would have been my fault," Jack says quietly. "The Ten was my last Delta mission. And we lost him." He looks down at his hands. "He should never have been there. We should have got him back in '04. I should have found him in there. He never should have been able to get close to you." His voice is shaking slightly, and Riley sees the faint shimmer in his eyes.

"No, none of that is your fault. The way you told it to me, he never even showed up where he was supposed to." She wraps her fingers around Jack's. "You did everything you could. And I'm still alive. I'm still here."

"I couldn't save you," Jack says, almost too softly for her to hear. "I'm sorry."

"Your job isn't to save me, not anymore." She's a big girl now, and even though she knows Jack will always worry about her, she did sign on for this. She did agree to risk her life, just like he does. "Now, your job is to save Mac." Which is exactly what they're going to do.

"I'm never gonna stop having your back, you know that, right?"

"So it's true. No matter how old you get, your parents still never stop seeing you as their little child."

"And no matter what level agent you are, I'm never gonna stop seeing that sassy little trainee with a chip on her shoulder and a penchant for getting shot at." Jack puts his arm around her.

"Oh, I think that's because I learned from the best." She smirks and punches his shoulder. And then they're grinding to a halt outside the manhole, and Riley can hear something very ominous. A low, rumbling roar. _Please, Mac, please be here._

…

Mac flinches as stone shards spatter around them and a burning pain creases his leg and side. _Getting shot doesn't hurt less no matter how many times it's happened. _Fortunately, he can tell none of them are worse than a bad graze.

He tosses Marton the oxygen tank and mask. "Secure this around your face, make sure it seals." He jumps when the man hands it back.

"I've trained for years to increase lung capacity," Marton says. "I can probably last long enough."

"I didn't come all this way for 'probably'." Mac shakes his head. "Take it. If we have to, we can buddy breathe." And then there's more ricocheting bullets, and both of them plunge down into the water.

It's just as cold the second time around. Mac kicks to add his own momentum to the propulsion engine, he just wants to get out of here as fast as possible. When they're about halfway there, his lungs start to burn. He doesn't want to risk passing out and floating off down here, so he taps Marton's leg. The man seems to understand, he pulls off the mask and pushes it into Mac's hand. He takes a few grateful breaths of air before handing it back.

When he sees the light filtering down to them, he switches off the propellor and lets the little vehicle sink. _It got the job done. _He pulls himself out of the hole, next to Marton. There's over a foot of water on the floor now, and it's rising fast. They wade to the center of the tunnel, below the hole, and look up. He can hear something rumbling, he really hopes it's Jack and the team en route. And then he hears brakes screech, but the low roar doesn't stop.

"What is that?" Marton asks. The water is to their knees now.

"The dam breaking." And then Jack's head appears in the hole. "Hey guys, the swimming area is now closed; please exit the pool." Mac chuckles and reaches down, linking his hands to give Marton a step up. Jack grabs the man's arms and pulls him through the hole, then turns back. "Hey Mac, how you gettin' up here, man?" The water is lapping at his waist now.

Mac's about to suggest detaching the strap from his knapsack and using it as a rope, but he's not sure it will be long enough. And that roaring is getting so much louder. He's out of time to think, out of options. He has to get up there, now, or he's going to drown.

Mac glances at the wall, then at the opening fifteen feet above his head. He can do this. _When I was a vigilante, I got really good at parkour. It's really all physics; mass and force and trajectory. It just hurts if you get it wrong._ He glances at the wall again, doing the calculations in his head. And then he jumps up at the wall and shoves off, reaching up for Jack's lowered arms.

For one horrible second, he thinks he missed. _Did I gain more weight than I think I did?_ And then his hands are clenched around Jack's straining, taut-muscled wrists, and he's halfway up and out of the hole into the sunlight.

And then the water hits him. It feels like a semi truck slamming into his hips and legs. Mac swings sideways, his already damaged side colliding with the rough edge of the hole. He can't muffle the cry of pain, but the water is drowning it out anyway.

The flood drags powerfully at his legs. Mac can feel chunks of stone that the water's pulled loose tearing at him. He knows the math, that the pressure from the amount of water flowing through those catacombs is going to be stronger than his grip on Jack's arms.

"Mac, don't you dare let go of me!" Jack is shouting to be heard over the rushing water. Mac guesses his grip is probably loosening; he's freezing and tired and there's no point in fighting the inevitable...is there?

"I'm not letting go of you. So don't you dare let go of me." Mac's arms are cold and going numb, but he can feel Jack's rough, calloused fingers tightening around his wrists. "Come on, kid, we're gonna get you outta there, but you gotta help us out, okay? Just hold on, a little longer."

He can feel himself rising, inch by inch. The smell of exhaust hits his nose, and he realizes Jack is actually attached to the truck now, that they're creeping it forward to add to the pull to get him out of there. The water is spilling out of the hole now, and that's helping a little, but there's still that forward suction as most of it rushes on through the channel the catacombs are making for it.

The water lets go, with a roar that Mac could swear sounds angry. His ankles bang against the lip of the hole, and then he's out, lying in the spreading pool of water on the road. Jack kicks free of the straps holding him to the truck and pulls Mac out of the way of the water, onto the sun-warmed asphalt.

Mac's exhausted and freezing, and all he can do is lie there in the road coughing and panting and shivering. Jack sits down beside him, and Mac feels the man wrap his arms around him and pull Mac to his chest. He curls into the warmth.

"Here, kiddo, I'm gonna let go of you for a minute, but I'm not going anywhere, I promise." Jack does, and Mac wraps his arms around himself, missing the warmth and contact. And then he feels Jack wrapping something warm around him, the longsleeved disguise shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt. It's still holding plenty of Jack's body heat, and Mac huddles into it gratefully. Jack pulls him back in close, running a hand through his hair and then putting his arm around Mac's side as he helps him to his feet. "We're goin' home, okay?"

Mac nods. _Yes, yes we are. All of us._

…

THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION

HOME SWEET HOME

It feels good to be back in the War Room. Riley listens to the post-mission debrief in a blur. She adds her own part mechanically, it feels distant, remote, like the whole thing happened to someone else. She knows the reality is going to crash in hard later. But for now, she's a lot like that aquifer dam. There's only a small leak. She figures she can keep it together until this is over.

"This was not a sanctioned operation, and Oversight has asked me to remind you that there will be an official warning, which is going into your permanent records."

"Dude, I have so many of those on my record, I lost count," Jack says. "Patty's just getting a power trip, isn't she?"

"Do you want to say that to her face, Jack?" Matty's finger hovers over the hot call button on screen. Patty's in Washington right now, smoothing out some final details of personnel transfer with the CIA. As it turns out, apparently keeping Matty permanently means lots of paperwork.

"No, I'm good."

Matty turns to Sam. "Cage, you'll be interrogating our friend the Ten of Spades. Since this wasn't an official operation, we have no obligation to turn him over to any government until we see fit."

"I'd kinda like to talk to him too," Jack says, and Riley sees the raw rage in his eyes.

"We'll save that till last, Dalton." Matty glances at him; Riley knows she heard the whole thing. "I think Cage will learn more from him without you giving him a broken jaw."

"Just his legs, Matty?" Jack asks, a wheedling tone slipping in. She shakes her head firmly.

"All of you pulled off a miracle out there," Matty says. "Thanks to you, Marton has been reunited with his family, and a holdout terror cell is decimated." She nods to them. "You're all free to go." Everyone heads for the door, but Riley hangs back, tugging Bozer with her.

"I don't think I really got the chance to thank you properly for what you did back there."

"Awww, it was nothing." Bozer glances at the floor, scuffing his shoe. "I just didn't want to lose a good friend, that's all."

She hugs him. "Well, it was pretty impressive. Points for stealth, even _I _didn't see you there."

"Stealth _is_ my biggest advantage. And my stellar good looks," he strikes a pose. "You're talking to Stephen Windwalker, the greatest Mage of the seven realms."

"You overheard Cage talking about DnD, didn't you." She chuckles. "Don't tell me, the real reason you saved my life was to try and score an invite to the campaign."

He shrugs and raises his eyebrows. "I mean, if you're offering…"

"We're definitely going to be playing tonight." She knows she's not going to be able to sleep. Sam probably isn't either, not after all this. They might as well put the extra adrenaline and after mission jitters to good use. Fighting imaginary monsters instead of real ones.

"Awesome." He grins. "You know, if you give me time to swing by the house, I can come in full cosplay."

Riley just shakes her head. "Sam's a great DM. If you ignore the fact that all the monsters she makes up are based off of Australian wildlife."

"She can actually make Australia scarier? Wow." Bozer laughs, and Riley smiles. _It's good to be back._

…

MAC'S HOUSE

Jack thinks he might actually feel more at home here than in his own apartment. _And not just because I spent a three weeks here after the whole Murdoc thing, before we went off globetrotting._ There's something welcoming about the house, something that says it's a place to sit down and stay a while. He's slightly selfishly glad Mac didn't decide to move.

_He told me he was considering it. Said he didn't want to live in a place where all his memories were of being lied to._ Jack could respect that. He'd even offered to let Mac move in with him, if he wanted. But in the end, Mac seems to have concluded that his house is owned and paid for and he might as well use it. Plus, he does have some good memories here, even if they're all mostly recent.

Jack grabs a beer from the tempermental fridge and wanders out to the deck. He could smell the smoke when he got out of the car, it's another bonfire night. He gets the feeling that's a pretty normal occurrence. Mac seems to have a truly disconcerting love of watching things burn.

Mickey barks, he knows Jack, and he also knows Jack always comes with treats. Jack fishes one out of a pocket and tosses it to the dog, who gulps it down and then runs up to nuzzle his hand, hoping for more. Mac's leaning toward the fire, probably trying to chase away the last of the chill from the catacombs. He looks up.

"Brought something for you too." Jack holds out the pizza box. "Thought you might get jealous if I only ever brought treats for the dog."

Mac opens the box and grins, grabbing himself a slice. Jack made sure he ordered the kid's favorite kind, the one with no mushrooms, extra green pepper and bacon, and the cheese in the crust. _A little more expensive, totally worth it. _

He pulls out another one and waves it at Jack. "Want a piece?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Jack reaches for it, but Mac slaps his hand.

"Uh, no, sit. Stay." He's grinning.

"Don't you know you can't teach an old dog new tricks?" Jack asks. He spins the pizza box toward him, but overestimates the force, and it topples to the ground, pizza slices spilling everywhere. Seeing his chance, Mickey rushes in, snatches two in his mouth, and retreats.

Jack apologizes and starts quickly picking up the mess. "Three-second rule, right Mac?"

"You know that's not really a very scientific…"

"I've followed it all my life, and I'm not dead yet. How's that for experimental test subject?" Jack asks. The last two words come out more as "tmst smgged" because he's shoved the last slice in his mouth.

Mac just shakes his head and takes another bite of his own slice.

"Where's Bozer?" Jack asks.

"Still at Riley's. I guess they're fighting a three headed kangaroo dragon."

"Dude, I thought I was the only one who messed up animal names." Jack shakes his head. "Don't you mean a Commodore Dragon?"

"It's technically Komodo Dragon, but no. According to Boze, it looks like this." Mac holds up his new phone, _we'll see how long this one stays in one piece,_ to show Jack a hand-drawn sketch of something that looks like a cross between a nightmare and a marsupial.

"Don't tell me, Sam invented that."

"Yep." Mac takes his phone back, and then glances at his wrist, frowning.

"You still workin' yourself up about that watch?" Jack shakes his head. "Mac, I'm tellin' ya. There's no shame in calling it quits. I mean, come on, every agency's done their best to find this guy. I know you're the smartest kid I know, but that doesn't mean you gotta win every time." He wants to take that watch away and throw it somewhere in a dark hole.

"I know. But I think it got water in it back there in the catacombs," Mac says. "It's stuck at the time from then."

"I wonder how that happened," Jack mumbles sarcastically. _Everything was waterlogged after that. _He had to hold onto a shivering, close to hypothermic Mac all the way back to the airfield where the jet was standing by. And Mac took almost twice as long as he did in the locker room shower after they got back, although Jack hung around and waited for him. _Wasn't like I was gonna be inconveniencing Matty, she's the one who insisted Mac and Cage and I couldn't come in the War Room until we stopped smelling like a goat farm._ And he knows being alone or with strangers in the locker room makes Mac jumpy, with good reason.

"I'm gonna see if I can open it up and dry it out," Mac says. "Might be able to fix it; Dad...James...was always taking it to pieces to work on the movements and stuff." He walks back into his room, and comes out with a handful of tools and a small board with a shallow depression in the center. "He left all this stuff when he left," Mac shrugs. "I couldn't really bring myself to part with it."

Jack nods. Mac sets the watch on the board, pulls out a couple thin tools, and starts putting pressure on the back. Jack watches; he mostly wears digital watches now but he has an old one of Pops's that he saves for special occasions. The battery ran out a year ago and he's never gotten around to taking it to a shop. _Bet I could bring it over and Mac could work his magic on it._ Jack smiles. He trusts the kid implicitly now. Whether it's with his life or Pops's watch.

"What the…" Mac whispers, grabbing a pair of tweezers and pulling something out of the back of the watch. It's damp, but it's a piece of glossy photo paper. And the kid in the image is pretty recognizable.

"Hey, is that you?" Jack asks. "Dude, I think that haircut is worse than the current one." _I forgot those atrocious long bangs were ever in style_.

"This was taken right before my tenth birthday." Mac glances at it. "He must have had it since he left."

"So he put it in there for you to find?" Jack glances at the small, faded photo. "It's gotta be some kind of clue, right?"

"I don't know." Mac turns the tiny scrap of paper over; if there were any words on it, they've been washed away. "But I'm going to find out."


	2. Muscle Car and Paperclip

Thanks to a lovely reviewer on AO3 who gave me the push I needed to actually start updating on here again!

* * *

202-Muscle Car+Paperclip

20,000 FEET ABOVE NORTH KOREA

AND FALLING

"Any time you wanna close that door, Riley, that would be great!" Jack yells, before one of the thieves slams him against the side of the plane.

"Yeah, I'm trying, Jack, but this is an eight-hundred-million dollar military aircraft designed specifically to be unhackable! It's not exactly user-friendly!" She's going as fast as she can, because she's watching Mac and Jack and Cage getting pummeled. Eight guys is not good odds. But if she doesn't get this plane under control, they're all definitely going to die, because a plane crash is even worse odds.

Mac's doing something to a supply crate inside the cargo bay, but one of the guys slips past Mac and Cage's defenses and tries to pull him away. Mac reacts violently to being grabbed from behind, kicking out and pushing himself off the crate to fall on his back on top of the man who attacked him. The guy grunts, breath knocked out of him, and Mac slams an elbow into the side of his head, gets back up, panting, and goes back to work after taking a couple shuddering breaths.

Riley's phone rings. Please don't be Matty. Not right now.

It's not Matty. It's worse.

"Mom?"

"Riley? Oh my God, you're never going to believe this." Diane sounds thrilled.

"Yeah?" Riley tucks the phone against her ear and continues typing.

"I got offered a promotion!"

"That's great." Riley knows she sounds flat, but she's currently trying to save her entire team's lives, so she can't really muster the enthusiasm.

"They want to promote me to branch manager, in Los Angeles. Apparently the last manager was skimming funds," Mom says casually. "I'd be right there with you, wouldn't that be great?"

"Um, yeah, totally." There's a reason Riley left home. Mom is the most nosy person on planet Earth, and I've worked...and lived...with people whose jobs are gathering intelligence. Having to spend large amounts of time with her makes Riley skittish. She's always afraid of Mom realizing the truth.

Another goon gets past Cage and comes for Riley, clearly aware that she's trying to foil their plans. She sets down her phone and rig and sweeps her leg under this guy's, dropping him like a rock and knocking him out with a swift punch before grabbing up her phone and rig again. "Sorry about that."

"What was that thud? Are you out of breath?"

"I'm working out, Mom."

"Oh, nice." But Diane doesn't take the hint. "You're happy about this, right?"

Jack gets tackled by two guys at once and goes down hard, and Mac stops whatever it is he's doing to wade into the fight himself. Riley flinches as he takes a knee to the ribs.

"Yeah, I am. That's great."

"Good, because I accepted, and they want me to start on Monday."

"What?" That's way too soon, she doesn't have time to find a place...wait… "Why did you tell them you could start so soon?"

"I really wanted the job, and I thought if I told them I could start right away, they'd pick me. I was kind of counting on being able to stay with you till I find a place of my own, you said your roommate moved out, right?" Riley glances at Sam, who's taking on one of the bigger guys, slamming him repeatedly into a cargo rack and trying to tangle his hands in the netting. "It is okay, right? It's just for a little while, until I find my own place."

The plane shudders, tilting, and Mac gasps as the crate he's returned to working on slides toward him. Jack yanks him out of the way before it pins him against a wall, and then goes back to punching people. "Mom, it's not a good time, okay? Can I call you back?"

"I'm sorry if I upset you, I didn't mean to." Of course she assumed I'd be fine with it. Riley's always fine, right?

"It's just a lot right now, and I really am busy, okay Mom? We'll talk later." She hangs up and types faster.

Jack takes a fist to the face and staggers. He and Cage are both starting to tire. There's only three guys left standing, but they're tough to take down.

"Hey Mac, whatever you're doing do it faster! What are you doing anyway?" Jack asks, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"I think you're gonna like this!" Mac yells. "Get them closer to me!"

"This whole time we've been trying to avoid that!" Sam shouts.

"Just trust me!" And clearly they do. Jack and Cage both fall back, toward Mac and whatever he's doing. And then Mac jumps forward, holding a couple carabiners that Riley can see are attached to the netting on the crate. He latches them through the guys' belts and then slams his foot against something on the floor. "Jack, Cage, get out of the way!"

The crate slides backward and out the door, dragging the three remaining thieves with it. Riley watches as it drops, and then a network of parachutes pops up, lifting it into the air with the three men dangling underneath.

Her rig beeps, and suddenly, the plane control systems flash green on her screen. "I have controls!" She immediately types in an autopilot sequence, and closes the rear door. Their descent levels out, and then they start to climb again. Riley keys in the coordinates of the closest aircraft carrier.

"I'll tell Matty we've got the plane." It's sad, she muses, that explaining this absolute debacle of a mission is actually better than giving her mom that call back she promised.

* * *

PHOENIX R&D

ON PINS AND NEEDLES. LITERALLY.

"Hang on, Cage. Almost done." Bozer mumbles around a mouthful of pins like he's in a fifties homemaker advertisement.

"If you stab me with one more of those, I will break every bone in your hand." Sam's threat is as cool and calm as if she's telling him what time it is.

"Right, right, right. There we go...all set." Boze steps back to admire his work. At least, that better be all he's admiring. "Your new and improved evening wear. Custom ballistic Kevlar woven right in." He turns to Riley, who's equally stunningly outfitted, and his gaze lingers a lot longer, Sam notices with a small grin. He's still totally into her. "You'll be the bulletproof belles of the ball." He clears his throat. "Have I mentioned how dashing I look in a tux?"

"Nice try, Bozer, but Matty wants me and Sam to run this op alone. She thinks the ambassador is more likely to want to talk to a couple unaccompanied women." Riley smoothes the short skirt of her black and silver dress. Cage's own red one is ankle length, but it's made up for by a long slit that comes to the middle of her thigh, and a daringly low-cut neckline. We're definitely going to get noticed. Which is exactly what we want, for once, tonight.

Bozer hands them both small clutch purses perfectly designed to conceal Riley's small handgun and Sam's knives.

"By the way, this is really good. Where'd you learn to sew like this?" Riley asks, still admiring her dress.

Bozer leans back on his desk, smiling in that odd reminiscing way. "Tenth grade. Ayesha Goldfarb. She was Juliet. I wanted to be her Romeo."

"Are we talking real life or high school production?" Sam asks.

"Both. They cast that doofus Aaron Schwartz instead. So I volunteered for the crew to be near Ayesha, and the only department that still needed help was costumes."

And were you star-crossed lovers?" Riley says.

"Nah. She wound up dating the guy who played her dad. They're married now." He glances at Riley again . Yeah, he's totally hoping to hit on her. But she's also totally blowing him off. There's a lot of subtext here that even they aren't aware of.

"Worried, Riley?" Bozer asks. Clearly he's managed to at least pick up on that. It's been obvious since they walked in here for the fitting, if he hadn't noticed Sam might think about checking his vitals.

"It's technically my first mission in command of my own team," Riley says.

"What was your first?" Bozer asks innocently.

Cage sees Riley flinch. Her first was the Bishop op. No one needs a reminder of how badly that went down. She felt like what happened to Mac in there was on her head, because Thornton left her in charge while she tried to straighten things out in DC. Mac never blamed her, but that doesn't mean Riley doesn't do it enough herself.

"It was sort of an emergency, so it doesn't really count. Plus," she lowers her voice slightly. "It was on a need to know basis. And you don't need to know."

"Come on, I can handle the truth." Riley just shakes her head, and Sam knows who's right. No, Bozer, you can't.

* * *

MAC'S HOUSE

THE BEST PLACE TO SPEND A SLOW DAY

Jack leans on the counter, cleaning his gun and waiting for Mac to get out of the shower after his morning run with Mickey. Jack's still a little winded; both Mac and his dog are infuriatingly athletic. Jack's already cleaned up; half his house is in the guest room and he hasn't bothered to take it back to his place yet. Military regulation shower times are a hard habit to break.

He grimaces as he straightens up; he still has a hell of a lot of bruises from that plane fight. The bathroom mirror told him they're starting to turn a lovely shade of chartreuse. I'm sure if I thought about it for a minute, I could tell you the color code for that particular tile hue. Jack's color vocabulary is surprisingly broad, thanks to his civilian cover as a tile salesman. He's shocked Riley multiple times by complimenting her choice of nail polish tint with the most accurate description possible. He likes randomly surprising people by rattling off the big words he pretends he's too dumb to know.

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out and groans. It's from Matty.

**War Room ASAP. You and Blondie.**

"Mac, we gotta go to work!" Jack yells, and then realizes Mac walked into the room while he was looking at the text, and is standing next to him wearing one of Jack's t-shirts and a paint-stained pair of jeans. "Oh, sorry man."

"I'm not deaf. Yet." Mac turns back to his room.

"She said ASAP dude."

"I'm trying to decide if she'll be madder if I show up late, or looking like this."

"She called on our day off. Her problem." Jack shrugs. "Hey, she oughta be glad she didn't catch us sweaty."

Jack was really looking forward to spending at least one day not getting shot at, beaten up, or falling out of the sky. And not having to worry about any of the above happening to Mac. So he thinks his less than stellar attitude upon walking into the War Room can be forgiven.

"Thank you for showing up on such short notice," Matty says, and Jack notices that she doesn't comment on his scowl or Mac's choice of clothing.

"So why are we here?" Jack asks.

"A smuggling gang working across the border that just jumped from small-time to a major player. The authorities believe they're also a street racing crew based out of LA; a few of the vehicles were IDed and match LAPD reports of illegal races. Originally, they were drug running for La Ola cartel. But lately they've switched gears, and now they're transporting guns across the border to supply the Mexican portion of the cartel. There's a major turf war going on with the Los Diablos around Mexico City."

Mac flinches. Jack knows the kid's last act as a vigilante was blowing up one of La Ola's gun warehouses. It's been over three years and nothing's changed. These guys are still doing the same things they were when Mac was still on the streets.

"The ATF and the DEA have been unable to get a lead on the locations of the races, which is the only time these smugglers will show themselves in a group. The only thing we know for sure about this case is that a major shipment of a new German-made assault rifle has gone missing; and that the pattern fits with the other thefts traced to this group."

"And they brought this case to us?" Mac asks. "It doesn't sound like a normal Phoenix op."

Matty pull up some images on the screen. "The CIA is tracking the shipment of G-36 rifles stolen last week. They're highly lethal and easy to slip past the normal detection methods."

"Oh yeah, I know these bad boys. The firing rate is incredible. There's hardly any recoil, too. Made of fiberglass and reinforced plastic, so they have a low metal content that scanners can be fooled into missing. Light, strong, extremely deadly. Those are a nasty piece of work," Jack says, glancing at the video. He's seen these in action. Letting them hit the streets in the hands of cartels would be a disaster.

"Okay, once you're done nerding out, Dalton, can we continue?" He nods. "The CIA can't legally seize the guns since they're on US soil, and they're handing off the case to us. The other agencies are in a jurisdictional war, and the CIA is trying to keep this out of their hands, so they don't blow the whole thing before they ever make a bust."

Jack's beginning to get the idea of how this is going to go. We need to get the locations of those races, and proof that these guys are the smugglers... This is an undercover op.

"The only way to get in with people like this is to be one of them." Matty says. "And given your pursuit driving record, and the fact that you own two vehicles that fit the profile of a street racer…"

"You picked me for the undercover." Suddenly Jack is a lot more enthusiastic about this mission. So all I have to do is score an invite to their illegal races, get them to trust me, and see if I can con them into offering me a cut of the profits if I'll drive for their smuggling operation. And then we have all the evidence we need to take them down. "Oh hell yeah. Fast and Furious, baby." Jack grins.

"Let me be clear, Jack, you are not to break the law any more than strictly necessary for this operation. If you get arrested for illegal racing, the Phoenix will take care of the charges, but I think it goes without saying that I will be making sure there are proper repercussions."

"This is the perfect time to break out one of my favorite cover personas." Jack grins. "There's only one guy with the panache for street racing."

Matty looks like she wants to facepalm. Clearly, she remembers this one.

"Who?" Mac asks innocently.

"Nicky Stokes."

* * *

HOLLYWOOD HILLS

JACK IS DEFINITELY ENJOYING THIS TOO MUCH

Mac can hear the pounding bass before the car even turns in the driveway. Jack has the speakers cranked way up, and he's currently blasting "You Shook Me All Night Long". Mac frowns when Jack pulls around to the front of the house and he gets a look at the new plates the GTO is sporting. **STOKE'D.**

Jack really enjoys these undercover ops. Although I don't know that there's much 'undercover' about this situation. He shakes his head when Jack parks and steps out. "You even have a vanity plate? For a cover ID's car?"

"It's called method acting, Mac. Ask Bozer about it sometime. You have to be fully immersed into the character."

Mac rolls his eyes; Jack has entirely too much fun with these cover IDs. "You do realize that the apostrophe wasn't necessary?"

"Yeah, but it looks way cooler." Jack grins. "Nick's a fan of over-the-top. Which makes him perfect for a street racer." Mac slides in and Jack hands him the packet he picked up from the Phoenix, with everything Mac needs for his own cover ID. He doesn't have a ready-made stash of them like Jack, so he has to go with whatever the techs working to create backstopped covers decide on. He opens the packet and then sighs.

"I think Matty's punishing me for your choice of cover IDs."

"Okay, how bad is it, let me see." Jack reaches for the license Mac is trying to shove into his wallet. "Dude, Tripp Coley? Yeah, she's definitely mad. Or she's seen you fall over your own feet and decided to make a really painful joke."

Mac sighs. I know, I know, I'm a klutz. He's already almost spilled coffee on his shirt this morning.

"Hey, at least she gave you a good picture. One time, I was going undercover in Madrid, and she picked the photo that made me look like I had a double chin and a unibrow." Jack shudders. "It was a dark time."

"When we see Matty again, I'm gonna ask her to stop punishing me for your life choices." Mac slides the license in his wallet and accepts the bagel Jack hands him. He always gets me food when he picks me up. Granted, that's Mac's own fault, because of the one time he told Jack that he broke the toaster trying to make it better and it burnt the bread and set off the fire alarm, so he hadn't eaten. Now Jack just assumes I never eat in the morning.

Mac tries to make sure none of the crumbs or cream cheese get anywhere in the car. The first time Jack brought me food, he made me stand outside the car until I finished. And then he started just insisting I make sure I used the takeout bag as a plate. Now he doesn't even say anything. Mac's pretty sure he's the only one allowed to eat in the GTO, Jack scolded Riley just a couple days ago for bringing in a bag of Doritos. I guess those are messier, with the powder all over them, but still.

"Hey, if you really hate the name, we could go back to me calling you Carl's Jr."

"Please don't. And anyway, it wouldn't make sense with this cover name."

"Why not? Your middle name could be Angus." Jack smirks evilly. "Now there's a good cover name. 'Tripp Angus Coley'."

"If you keep talking, I'm gonna sabotage your car so the wheels all fall off and it catches on fire in the first race." He enunciates every word with vicious clarity.

"As cool as that would look, I'm gonna pass." Jack pulls out onto the road.

"Where are we going?" Mac asks.

"LAPD arrested a few of these racers before. Only one address is still current. A guy by the name Julian Ramone, in Westlake." Jack takes a corner just a little too fast. "Street racing is like Fight Club. The first rule is, you don't talk to anyone who isn't part of the in group. Doing undercovers in organizations like this is always tricky. They don't trust outsiders and they're not very accepting of a new face. That's why no one can get the race locations. They don't post flyers around town saying 'hey, we're going to be holding an illegal race at this time, on these roads'."

Mac nods, he read the briefing too. "So showing up in person is going to help?" He hopes Jack doesn't plan on interrogating this guy into giving them the location. I guess we'll do whatever we have to to keep those guns from hitting the streets, but I don't want to hurt anyone unless we have to.

"There's only one way to get the attention of a guy like that," Jack says. "Well, two, but I don't really have the body of a pin-up poster." He chuckles and slips into a narrow gap in the traffic. "So this baby's gonna have to do." He runs a hand over the steering wheel.

The dumpy little apartment building in Westlake reminds Mac a little too much of the one they tracked Pena...or now, the Ghost...to last year. They've heard nothing about him since that failed bombing and that police ceremony last year; according to Jack's old EOD friend Charlie, the Ghost has gone to ground. Mac hates that there's never anything new to tell the man's wife when he visits. She still isn't going to get closure, not until we find out something to help. But Annabelle is growing fast, and she's incredibly smart. Mac really hopes he can figure out a way for her and Valerie Lawson to meet, he thinks those two would get along like a house on fire. That's always such an odd expression. I've seen a lot of buildings on fire, and usually there's nothing that good about it.

"Do you think we missed him?" Mac asks.

"Nah. He works nights at a chemical plant as a janitor, and then he has a noon to eight shift three days a week at a car repair. He should be getting ready to leave for that job right about now." Jack glances out the window. "Dollars to donuts it's gonna be the dude in the tricked out Camaro right there."

Sure enough, a sleek red muscle car is pulling out of the carport next to the apartments. It looks out of place in the shabby neighborhood. Mac guesses the car is probably Ramone's one luxury in life.

Jack puts the GTO in gear and pulls out after him, getting in the lane beside the red car. He weaves in and out of traffic to make sure that when they get to a red light, he can pull up directly beside the other vehicle.

Jack rolls down his window, leans out, and yells. "Hey! She all looks, or she got anything good under that hood?"

Ramone glares at him, and the light turns green, allowing them both to pull away. Ramone pushes his car a little faster, now his rear bumper is even with Jack's front tire. Jack honks at the slower car in front of him and gets a middle finger out the window in response. He revs the engine and Mac sees the Camaro inch forward.

"What are you doing?" Mac asks.

"Getting myself invited to a race."

"By pissing him off?"

"By challenging him." Jack revs the engine again.

"If we get in trouble for racing here…"

"It's part of the job. We have to score an invite, and the only way to do that is to impress him." Mac tries not to think about what happens if they get arrested. They'll find out my cover IDs don't match my prints. He's still not used to not having to watch his every move and worry about that ankle tether that was part of his original parole terms. He doesn't want to go back to that. Penny would be really disappointed. He only has a few more monthly meetings with her now.

"Chill, dude. It's way too congested to actually race. I just want to make him interested."

The next stop light is just turning red as they approach. Mac's afraid Ramone might run it, trying to put some distance between them, but he puts on the brakes and stops right beside Jack's car again. He got arrested for illegal racing three times; I saw his sheet. No wonder he wants to actually obey the rules. Mac is legally allowed to drive now, on probationary status only, but he hasn't gotten behind the wheel yet. LA traffic is stressful, and he's scared of accidentally breaking a law or even getting into an accident that isn't his fault. I don't know what I'd do when the police showed up. He's sort of afraid he'd be one of those people who just starts crying. I really hope that wouldn't happen, but I'm just scared. Even when Jack is driving, seeing a police car makes him nervous.

This time, when the light turns, Jack gets the lead. He's almost a car and a half in front of Ramone when they get to the garage where the guy works. It's a big place, buzzing with activity. Almost twice as big as Weathers's. This garage has ten bays and a separate building for less-invasive work like oil changes and tire maintenance.

Jack pulls in and parks, and when Ramone gets out of his car, he walks over. Mac notices Jack's stride has totally changed. It's not the carefully balanced, cobra-ready-to-strike way the former Delta usually carries himself. This is loose and free and more than a little cocky. Mac follows him, considerably less confidently.

"That's a sweet ride, man," Jack says. Ramone just glares at him.

"What were you trying to pull out there?"

"I'm bored. This city is so slow ." Jack glances toward the traffic crawling by on the street. "I'm used to running her flat out on the open road."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have moved to LA." Ramone tries to move past them, to the garage, but Mac steps in front of him, trying to look more intimidating than he feels. Just do what Jack does. He crosses his arms and plants his feet, wishing he was just a little taller. Those couple inches make a world of difference. And the fact that Jack just somehow exudes authority. Mac feels like a golden retriever next to a Rottweiler or German shepherd.

"Yeah, but I heard they've got a great street scene." Jack glances at the car. Mac can see, now that they're closer, a few long scrapes in the paint, some dents and places where it looks like a tire's rubbed up on a curb hard. This car has been taken care of religiously. That's new damage; or it would be repaired and covered up by now. Clearly a few arrests haven't stopped Ramone's addiction to speed and danger.

One of the mechanics steps out of the building, wiping his hands on a blue shop towel. "Hey Ramone, these guys making trouble?"

"They're looking for some action, Juli." Ramone is clearly one of the underdogs here; Mac can tell he's deferring to this "Juli" for what should be done about them. Probably the fact that he keeps getting caught keeps him on a low rung in the group. Most of these guys would take pride in being able to outrun any cops after them.

Apparently street racing isn't too different from any other gang. Juli nods to Ramone, who slips past Mac and heads for the office. Then he turns to Jack, clearly sizing him up as the one closest to his rank. The two square off, and Mac's a little concerned there's going to be a punch thrown.

"You mess with one of my guys, mohawk, you mess with me." Juli's voice bites.

"Hey, if he can't play with the big dogs, he shouldn't act like it. I was just testing his ride." Jack shrugs. "Tough to do in LA traffic. But I did beat him here. He's probably just sore about it."

Juli frowns and crosses his arms. "He wasn't out there looking for trouble."

"In a car like that? He's asking for someone to show him up." Jack glances at the heavily modified vehicle. "There's no way that's not racing mods. I'm guessing she's got what, a 425 horse under there?" Juli says nothing. He looks Jack's GTO over, frowning.

"Yeah, I know the old girl don't look like much, but I never could bear to change her up. She belonged to my pops, and what can I say, I'm a little sentimental. But she doesn't need to look flashy to run like hell."

"You gonna give me a name, or do I have to call my guys and have them tow you out?"

Jack flashes the guy a confident grin and holds out his hand. "I'm Nicky Stokes, and this here's my mechanic, Tripp."

"Julio Gomez." The man holds out his hand. Mac flinches. He's the nephew of one of the big dogs in the La Ola cartel. They've definitely found the right crew.

* * *

Riley's phone buzzes while she's finishing coding the last of the bugs she and Cage are planning to plant in the ambassador's office. Hey, might as well go all the way as long as we're going to be inside anyway. She glances at it, hoping the caller ID isn't for her mom. It's not. It's Matty.

She picks up immediately. "Hi Matty."

"You were expecting someone else?" Busted. Cage might be the best interrogator Riley's ever met, but Matty can play in the same league.

"Yeah..."

"There are only three people in the world you'd sound relieved to hear me instead of, so I know it was either Diane, Elwood, or Patty you were expecting." Matty sighs. "And seeing that Diane is the one who recently accepted a promotion in Los Angeles, I'm fairly certain it was her."

"You're doing running background checks on my mom? Why am I not surprised." Riley chuckles. "But yes, she's coming into town, and she wants to stay with me for a couple weeks while she finds her own place." She still hasn't listened to the voicemail Diane left her while she was getting fitted for that dress with Sam. She's going to be apologetic and offer to get a hotel. Which is definitely going to guilt Riley into telling her she can stay.

"Are you concerned about being able to do your job with her there?" Matty asks. "There are a few unused Phoenix apartments we could offer; it couldn't be permanent, but…"

"It's fine, I can handle it. My family is my problem, I can't ask the agency to bend over backward for that. It'll only be a couple weeks. It's just like any other undercover." Except I don't get to go home and take off the mask. I have to put it on when I walk through my own door.

She wishes she could talk to Jack, but he's off on an op with Mac and she doesn't dare call him. It feels so strange to not be working right alongside him. Five years of being partners means she's gotten used to being able to turn around and have Jack right there at her side. He's always been there for me, whatever I need. She knows she's ready for this change, that she's more than capable of leading her own team, from a tactical and experience standpoint. But not having Jack just feels wrong.

He's proud of me for making it to this point, for getting the promotion. And both of them know that this has always been part of the plan. Jack was supposed to train me, to turn me into a field agent as competent and qualified as he is. But she'd always assumed that she was being groomed to take his place when he retires, not to suddenly be given command of her own team and her own missions, while Jack is still on his own.

I'm going to do this mission, and it's going to go fine. She knows she can pull this one off, it's nothing she hasn't done a hundred times. But Jack won't be outside the party in the surveillance van, telling her she's doing great, and complaining that he's stuck in the car, and asking her to sneak him out food from the buffet.

Riley sighs and leans on her desk. Eventually, I'll get used to it. I'll make it work. But she really, really hates the thought of that.

* * *

JULI'S GARAGE

THEY'RE DEFINITELY IN THE RIGHT PLACE

Mac listens to Jack bragging up his cover ID's track record, and shakes his head. Jack really likes selling a big story. But in a crowd like this, some exaggeration just makes him fit right in. Three of the guys who aren't currently working on vehicles have come over to listen to Jack and Julio. It seems like this garage is actually more or less a front for the racers to bring in their cars and repair or improve them. A few normal cars are going in and out, and Mac can see some body work being done on a partially crashed Toyota at the end of the row of work bays, but there are too many modified cars here to represent the normal LA driving scene.

"How come I never heard of you, if you're so good?" Julio leans back on his car, a sleek Dodge Charger with flashy detailing.

"Cause up till a week ago, I was burning rubber in Vegas." It's much easier, Mac's learned, to sell a cover long-distance. Phones can be hijacked and calls rerouted, or informers can simply be bought off to spread whatever information is needed. Jack grins. "I got tired of winning all the time, and I heard the LA scene was impressive."

"Hey kid, why don't you bring that car in here and give us a look at what's under the hood?" One of the other guys says. Jack turns and tosses Mac the keys, and he slides in. Please don't let me do any damage. He's driven so many cars into work bays that it's nearly second nature, but he doesn't want to do anything to Jack's precious car.

He parks the GTO and pops the hood, showing the men the engine underneath. He's spent plenty of time with Jack fine-tuning it, so he can talk about it just as easily as if he actually was the mechanic he claims to be. He runs through the key points quickly, size, compression, horsepower, special modifications, and then steps back to let the racers check it out for themselves.

"Come on back, have a beer and tell us everything about Vegas." Julio claps Jack on the arm. Mac can sense the threat underneath. They want to see if his stories check out. If he does know what he should about street racing, about people they might know in Vegas. Mac's seen the same thing in prison, when supposed gang members arrive. If no one from the gang they claim affiliation with knows them, there are tests, like this. To be sure they're not a plant. Mac's never actually seen a case of police planting an informant, it's more of a prison urban legend than anything, but gangs are always incredibly careful.

He already knows he's not welcome back there. He's not the racer, these men are going to put him on an even lower rung than Ramone. I'm just good with the engines. He decides to really sell his cover and take advantage of being in the shop to do some work. He's been thinking about how to make sure Jack can actually follow through on his boasts, and there are a few things he can do to the engine. I'm not going to wreck it like I did that rental in Mission City, but I can do some things on the same concept that are less drastic than ripping out the air filter and adding hydrogen peroxide.

He's making a few last adjustments to the air intakes, hoping they can squeeze just a little more out of the engine, when someone slams into him from behind, hard enough to jolt him into dropping the wrench.

"Sorry, I can move," he apologizes, even though technically he wasn't in the way. They could have gone around the other end of the car. But they're probably giving the new guy grief.

The man doesn't move, and Mac shudders as he feels hips grind against him. That's not someone trying to squeeze past, that's intentional. He knows the difference all too well. And he can feel a lot more of this stranger's body than he wants to...

"J-just leave me alone, I'm busy." He hates, hates, that stupid voice crack.

"That what you tell your friend, too?"

"I don't know what you mean…" Mac hates how lame it sounds, because even he can tell he's lying through his teeth. He knows exactly what this man is insinuating. Mac wishes he could say he's surprised, but he's really not. Got wolf-whistled more than a few times when I was working at Weathers's. Apparently a guy bent over an engine is some kind of turn-on. Back then, he just laughed when the other mechanics teased him about being the one everyone brought their cars in just to get to see. It isn't funny anymore.

"Oh, come on, the way you were looking there, you've got to have some experience. You're probably used to a private garage, aren't you? Just you and your friend and whatever car he feels like bending you over today."

"I-it's not like that. He doesn't…I'm not..." Mac protests, feeling himself start to shake. If he does anything, Jack's not here and these guys won't defend me, not against one of their own. It's up to Mac to defend himself, and he knows exactly how well that went in prison. I have a lot more training now, but he's still bigger than me, and he has me pinned.

"Tells you to make sure no one else gets any, huh?" The man runs a hand down Mac's leg, and he gasps, shuddering more and feeling tears prick at his eyes. Please, don't do this. "He afraid you're gonna find out he's not all that great and want someone who can give you what you really want?"

Mac's fingers find one of the socket wrenches, and he clenches his hand around it. It's not the best weapon, but at least he's not totally defenseless. Please go away. Please. He doesn't want to get them in trouble, to risk their covers, but he isn't going to let this man hurt him. I don't have to stand here and take this. Jack would be the first to tell him that. "Leave me alone." This time, his voice doesn't crack.

A door slams open, and the man backs off, sliding away. Mac collapses over the engine, panting, leaning his cheek on the cool, greasy metal. He needs to get a grip, he has to act like everything is fine. Nothing happened. I'm okay. But the only thing he can think of is Jack, where is Jack? He wouldn't let that happen. Where is he?

* * *

Jack tries to force himself to stay relaxed as he trades stories with the racers. As far as he can tell, none of them come from the Vegas scene or have close connections to anyone there, but he can't be fully certain. He sticks to what he knows from his own research of the street racing groups there, and tries not to be overly specific. It sounds counterintuitive, but using exact dates isn't really a good way to gain trust. Talking about Tony Samaro wrecking on April 9th last year is too exact, saying it was in the spring sounds more natural and legitimate. Unless it's something truly earth-shattering, normal people don't really remember specific dates.

He laughs about crazy wrecks and shows off scars that he can claim are from driving, and swaps stories of close calls with the cops. And when he gets up for a second beer, he slips one of Riley's wireless bugs under the table. Bugging an office is kind of old-school, but it could still get us something. Now that people use cell phones, it's impossible to predict exactly where conversations about deals and illegal stuff might take place. If Riley was here she could clone his phone and scan his emails and texts. But she's off running her own op, so Jack's left to get this the really old-fashioned way. If he wants incontestable proof these guys are running guns, he needs to get them to tell him themselves.

"You're welcome at the shop anytime," Juli says. "As long as next time, the beer's on you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Jack steps outside. Time ran away from him in there, it's almost four thirty, and the last of the normal clientele are pulling out. He wanders along the row of muscle cars, most of which have their hoods up. He admires the work, these cars are all built for as much speed as possible over short distances. But that doesn't matter unless you have a driver who knows how to handle it.

He's checking out the Mustang Cobra when he hears someone step up behind him.

"Surprised you're taking the time to pretend you know what you're looking at, Stokes." He recognizes the voice. Hector Ruiz, one of the guys who seemed less inclined to believe he was legitimate, or at least to believe his bravado. "No one's watching you now."

"Clearly you are. And what exactly are you implying? That because I have a mechanic I don't need to know how to do it myself?" He can start naming off every piece of the engine if that will satisfy this guy.

"Real racers work on their own cars." There's nothing friendly in Ruiz's eyes. "I wouldn't trust another pair of hands under my hood."

Jack shakes his head. "Then you haven't seen my guy work. He's a magician with these things, man." He glances at where Mac's tweaking something on the GTO's engine. "Boosted my top speed by fifteen miles per hour and stopped the shimmy she was doing at 120."

"But he doesn't drive?"

"Nah. Got in a nasty wreck a couple years ago, kinda messed him up." Jack taps his head. "He won't get behind the wheel anymore."

"Seems to me like you're taking advantage of a tragedy," Ruiz mutters, and Jack doesn't like the look in his eyes. Mac's bent over under the hood, and Jack's suddenly aware of what that position would look like to someone intent on one thing. "You sure your pretty boy mechanic isn't actually real good at revving a different kinda engine?"

"That ain't how it is." Jack wants to take a swing, but he can't afford to let his temper get the best of him.

Ruiz shrugs, but his eyes are glued to where Mac is still leaning over the engine. Jack shudders. You come near him, and I'll put you in the ground, mission be damned.

He purposefully walks over to Mac; he needs to be right there, making sure no one else is going to act on any ideas they might have about Mac's reasons for being here.

"You about ready to close her down and hit the road?"

"Learn anything?" Mac asks. He's just finishing with the carburetor he's been tuning up, wiping his tools on a grimy rag and putting them away. There's grease stains all over his face, his hands are black, and he looks even younger than normal.

"Nothing important."

"What was he going on about?" Mac says, sounding way too flippant to be casually asking. He heard everything, but he wants to know if I'll tell him.

"He thought I was keeping you around for a lot more than twistin' some bolts." Jack shakes his head. "I made it real clear that wasn't the case. But I'd stay away from him if I were you."

"If I avoided every guy who looked at me like that, we'd never get anything done." Jack flinches at how casually Mac says it. He just knows that way too many people are going to see him first and foremost as an object. And even worse, he's accepted it.

"Gimme their names."

Mac looks like he wants to, there's something shaken under the composed front he's trying to put up. But then he shakes his head. "J-Nick...we can't afford to start something. Not now. I'm fine. As long as they think you've got some kinda claim, they'll probably leave me alone." Jack rubs a hand over his face. Mac is right. As long as they don't push things, don't challenge anyone else's assumptions, it'll probably be okay. But there's always that chance that it won't be.

Jack steps into his car, and just as he's about to pull out, Julio steps out of the building, holding his cell phone. Yep. He made me feel like we were all good, and then he made his calls. Jack knows the man was hoping he'd let his guard down, if this was a trick. But apparently Phoenix's backstopped cover is holding up, because Juli's grinning.

He doesn't say a thing. Better he thinks I don't know he was digging. That it wouldn't make an ounce of difference to me. He can't afford to make the guy wonder why Jack is so concerned that his story needs to check out. Jack swings out of the lot and into the beginnings of rush hour traffic. Well, that went well. The sooner they can put this case and these guys in the rearview, the better Jack will feel. He's definitely going to be keeping a much closer eye on Mac from now on.

* * *

Bozer can tell something's wrong when Mac walks in the door. He doesn't immediately drop to his knees and start tussling with Mickey, and he jumps when Bozer walks out from around the kitchen island.

"How did it go out there?" He asks.

"Jack's got a whole bunch of new friends. He's in, so it's all good."

"It's not all good, you look...well, you don't look good." Bozer is for once at a loss for a good description. Mac is pale and shaky and there's a hunted, haunted look in his eyes.

"I'm okay." Mac shakes his head.

"Mac, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong." Boze puts a hand gently on Mac's shoulder. "Come on, man, you gotta tell me what's going on."

"It was just...at the garage…" Mac shudders. "I'm used to it, it's not important."

Bozer knows exactly what he's talking about. He's known since Mac walked through the door, because that look in his eyes is the same as after Bishop prison, as after Murdoc. "It is important, Mac, and no one should ever be used to it." He worried about Mac all through high school; but then at least Bozer could protect him. When Mac got sent to prison, he was all alone. And now he's out there in the field, where Jack is supposed to be watching his back…

"You didn't have to let them do something to keep your cover, did you?" Boze doesn't care what orders were, Mac shouldn't be subjected to that. I can't imagine Jack letting it happen, though. He'd break every rule in the book if he had to, to protect Mac. Bozer's at least willing to accept Mac risking his life when he has Jack to watch his back.

"No, and nothing happened. It just startled me." Mac shrugs, a forced casualness that doesn't match the strain in his eyes and in his tense shoulders.

"And Jack…" Boze is surprised no one is missing limbs after something like that.

"Jack doesn't know. I can't afford to mess up the op by complaining; it's my problem and I'll handle it. If Jack knew he'd want to pull me, and I can still do this. I'm fine." Mac pointedly steps away and into the kitchen, clearly he wants this conversation over. It's not fair that this always happens to him. Bozer knows Riley talks about missions that make her want to take three-hour showers afterward, but she's also been trained to deal with people's treatment of her, to either fight back or use that interest against them. Mac got thrown into a terrible situation without any plan for how to survive it.

"You made a pot pie?" Mac's smile is totally genuine this time. Bozer grins.

"Yep." Bozer isn't able to make as many carefully fussed-over meals as he used to, but his chicken pot pie requires minimal effort and lasts at least a couple days unless they're feeding a group. And we had to do something with that leftover chicken. "Should be almost done. Hey, don't touch the oven." Bozer shoos Mac away, waving his hot pads mock-menacingly. "I swear, all you have to do is put a finger on it and things burn." He glances inside. "If you want to help, feed Mickey so he's not underfoot the second I take this thing out."

Mickey stays out of the way, thankfully, and Bozer's perfectly browned pot pie makes it to the table in one piece. Not that that lasts long. They're both on their second slice before either of them actually feel like talking again.

Bozer didn't want to dump his own complicated life on Mac while his friend was still dealing with issues of his own, but Mac seems to be over at least the initial trauma of the day, and Boze isn't going to be able to keep this news a secret any longer anyway. "Thornton's talking about sending me to official training. Apparently there's a new session starting at the academy next month."

Boze isn't sure how he feels about this. I guess everyone thought I wouldn't need training, because all I wanted to be was a lab tech and I only went on a few supposedly low-risk missions. And then I got stabbed right there in the middle of the Phoenix. Apparently they've realized that no place is actually safe and he ought to have at least some idea of how to protect himself.

"Really?" Mac grins. "What did you do? She hasn't even threatened me with that."

"I guess she wanted me to go when I first joined, but then she had to leave and Matty never did anything about it." He shrugs. "It doesn't sound so bad. I guess it's 'everything you need to know about being a spy' somehow condensed into four weeks. So like that film school seminar thing I did but way more intense."

"But she didn't say anything about me?" The worry in Mac's voice is so heartbreaking. He's constantly afraid of making a mistake and being punished for it. Bozer knows that's got to be a byproduct of James's brand of shitty parenting. I'm with Jack when it comes to that whole mess. Mac's better off leaving that guy to someone else. Because even if he does find him, how is he gonna face down the man who controlled his whole life for ten years, and managed to leave permanent damage? Boze doesn't want to think of Mac coming face to face with that abusive jerk again. All James will do will be tear at the scars he's left and reopen old wounds.

Bozer shakes his head, at the very least he can reassure Mac that he hasn't done something unforgivable. "Nope. Sounds like I'm the only one going. I guess she figures if you've spent almost a year in the field already and haven't died yet, that there's probably nothing they can teach you you don't already know." Mac's years as a vigilante probably count for something too.

"The problem is, the academy's in Virginia. So I'll be there a whole month, and you'll be here by yourself."

"I'll try not to burn the house down while you're gone." Mac chuckles.

"Oh, no. I am going to make enough pre-cooked meals to last you the whole month, and all you are doing is popping them in the microwave. I'll even make sure none of them have foil on them." Bozer shakes his head. "You are not touching the stove, the grill, or anything else flammable while I'm not here."

"It's not that bad."

"Mac, you burned a pot of boiled noodles last week." He still doesn't know how that happened. Apparently Mac let the macaroni boil over, and didn't notice until the whole pot of noodles were scorched to the bottom of the pan and setting off the smoke alarm. I shudder to think what would happen if he tried to make more than one thing at the same time. "At least have Jack or Riley over if you're going to attempt to make anything yourself. Then at least someone will be there to help you put out the fire." And will probably have ordered takeout in advance.

"A month won't be bad." Mac helps himself to more of the food. He's finally eating like a normal person again. Bozer had been worried about him after that mission where he had to work with Murdoc. He just stops eating when he's stressed out, and it's never good.

"Well, now I know you won't starve, but we still have a few problems. We'll need to find someone to look after Mickey while I'm there and you're on missions." Mac nods.

This worked fine when I had a semi-normal schedule at the Phoenix. But if Boze is going to be spending a month in training, no one will be home to let Mickey out. And he doesn't really want to ask Mrs. Schwartz to do it; the grandmotherly old woman would insist it was no problem at all, but she did have knee surgery this year and Bozer would hate for the dog to injure her. Mickey's got a lot of energy.

"I've got an idea."

Mac pulls out his phone, and when he calls, the person who answers is clearly audible, even though he doesn't have the speaker option on. "This is Penny, hey how's it going, Mac? Do we need to reschedule again?" Matty is the only other person I know who has a phone voice like that.

"Penny, how would you feel about watching a dog for a few weeks?"

* * *

JULI'S GARAGE

NOT A LOT OF GOOD MEMORIES HERE

Jack apologized nonstop in the car after Mac finally broke and told him what happened in the garage. But there's nothing he can do about it. We need to keep these guys happy if we want to get proof they're running guns. And Mac doesn't even know who it was that attacked him. He can't tell if that's better or worse.

He's not sure how he feels about going back to the garage again today, but he knows that the faster Jack makes friends with these guys, the more they'll trust him, and the faster they'll be willing to cut him in on the gun running. And once they do, the case is over.

Mac makes sure the car is parked in the end bay of the garage, so no one has an excuse to push past him for anything. He's jumpy, but he tries not to flinch every time someone walks by. They're mostly chatting in Spanish amongst themselves, but he has a decent grasp of several different dialects from listening in on cartels, spending time with Carlos, and from prison. He can tell some of them are talking about him, and it's not anything he really wanted to hear.

He tries to tune it out and focus on working on the car. There isn't really anything he actually needs to do, Jack keeps this car purring like a kitten, but staying busy means he doesn't have to think about what these guys think of him.

When he hears footsteps coming his way, he straightens up abruptly, knocking his head on the hood and wincing at his inescapable clumsiness. That always makes me look like an even easier target . But it's not one of the men. It's a girl probably a couple years younger than him, in grease-stained coveralls. He vaguely remembers seeing her working on a Honda yesterday, at the far end of the garage.

"Guess your friend got the okay to play with the big boys. Wondered if you were gonna be coming back. I'm Melina." The girl pushes strands of her dark ponytail out of her face.

"Tripp." He holds out a hand and then thinks better of it, he's been digging through the engine all morning. She grabs it anyway and shakes it, her own hand is equally filthy.

She glances at the GTO's engine. "Heard Jorge was giving you a hard time yesterday."

"It's not a big deal," Mac turns back to the engine.

"He's just a big bully. You fight back, he'll leave you alone." She grins. "Next time you see him, take a look at his left cheek. I left him a little something to remember me by. He hasn't tried to touch me since."

"Thanks for the advice."

"He and Hector Ruiz and Diego Rojas are trouble. They're just gross pigs." She spits. "But Ruiz is the one you really need to watch out for. He's not all talk." Mac has the feeling she's speaking from experience.

"And you still work here with guys like that?" He doesn't think he could stand it. If this wasn't an op that I know will be over soon, I'd dread coming here every single day. He already does, but he just knows it's not permanent.

"My sister is Juli's girlfriend. After our mom died he gave me the job here so I could stay in our apartment." She shrugs. "It's all I'm good at, really. I wasn't smart enough to go anywhere else, and doing this gives me money in my pocket and lets me wear something other than skimpy dresses and leather thigh-highs."

Mac knows the neighborhood isn't great. He spent plenty of time in Westlake as a vigilante and saw hookers dressed just like Melina is describing. A lot of girls either lose the family's provider to the drug wars, or they get in with a guy who's part of a cartel and start getting turned out to bring in even more money. He'd always pitied them, when he saw them. Now, it's an even more visceral sympathy.

Melina goes back to the car she was working on, a lime-green Challenger that's clearly one of the racing cars. But this one looks like it's been doing more than street racing, there's a thin film of dust all over the car and the tires are full of stones and caked sand.

Melina reaches inside and turns the key, and then engine cranks over but growls to a stop. Sounds like it's not getting fuel... "Damn it!" She sighs. "This one's shot. I can't figure out what's wrong with her."

"There's no gas getting to the engine," Mac says.

"I know. I replaced every inch of the fuel line. There wasn't a break anywhere, but it still won't run." Mac looks from the engine to the tires. There was something that used to happen to the older cars during some of the races in Mission City. The ones that got beat around a lot and took underbody damage sometimes got holes in the line that runs from the outside of the car to the gas tank.

He slides down underneath the car and instantly sees the problem, a gouge right where he expected it, in the pipe. It looks like the car banged over a rock or kicked up something nasty, and it left a gash.

"You've got a hole in your filling pipe down here. Looks like a bunch of sand got kicked in, and it got driven anyway. Probably wrecked your injectors at this point. You're gonna need to flush the whole system and replace anything the sand got into."

Melina makes quick work of removing the injectors and checking them, and she looks fairly impressed to realize he's right. "How did you know what to look for?"

"I've only ever seen that on dirt track racers," Mac explains. "Used to work around those growing up." That's a lot of sand run up in that engine. Wonder what they were doing to get it that clogged?

It looks like he's just found one of the cars they're using to run across the border. He commits the license number to memory; he'll tell Jack when he comes out from talking with the guys. Mac gets the feeling that the men in the back room are the ones who are the top dogs. It doesn't sound like Melina knows anything about what they're really doing with the cars; she clearly didn't know how this one had been damaged. They probably only let a few trusted people in. Jack's going to have to work hard to be one of them. He wonders how long it's going to take to get them to trust him.

He tries to ignore the looks he can feel directed at him, and the conversations he hears that some of the men don't even bother to try and disguise from him. I don't know how much longer I can do this. He can fight back, if they try anything, but it's almost more painful just to listen, because all the memories of prison keep flooding back. I wish I could make them stop. But I can't afford to ruin our chances here. It's possible that sticking up for himself wouldn't hurt their covers at all, but he doesn't want to risk making the wrong person angry. They might tell Jack to leave. Worse, they might ask him to let these guys do what they want to me. And he knows Jack will refuse. He will. He would never let them do that to me.

He slumps against the side of the car in relief when Jack walks out less than fifteen minutes later. We can leave now, it's gonna be okay. Julio is smiling and clapping Jack on the back, clearly he's a little buzzed from the beers. Jack seems perfectly sober. He was the one who had to buy all of it today. Mac grins just a little.

Julio waves his hand toward the car, and Mac can just vaguely hear him say something to Jack. "You're a lotta talk, Stokes, but I wanna see this baby in action. Saturday, ten p.m. at the corner of Grand and the second alley. Then we'll find out just how lucky you are, Vegas."

"Looking forward to it." Jack grins and gets in his car, revving the engine more than necessary as they pull out.

Mac waits until they're on the road to let out a shuddering sigh of relaxation. One more day, and this is all over.

* * *

WAR ROOM

THERE ARE FEWER PEOPLE HERE THAN RILEY IS USED TO

It feels odd to be doing the pre-mission briefing herself. It feels even odder to be doing it in front of only two people, Sam and Matty. The mission itself is straightforward, they just need to get the access information for the Chinese ambassador's offshore bank accounts to prove he's being paid off by an arms dealer to cover illegal shipments of high-grade weapons. But Riley fumbles her information twice in the fifteen minute briefing, and forgets an important piece of the plan until Cage asks a question about it.

She knows she messed up, but Matty for once says absolutely nothing. When she leaves, and Riley starts packing up her rig to get ready to leave, Sam walks up to her. Riley knows that look, it never means the conversation is going to be a comfortable one.

"Riley, what's eating you?"

"Nothing." Riley can be professional. She can put the mission first.

"That's your mom's name? I thought it was Diane," Cage says casually. First Matty, now Cage, I can't get away with anything around here. She told Jack about the whole thing via text last night, and she knows the situation is as uncomfortable for him as it is for her. But these separate missions don't leave them much time to talk. "You clearly aren't comfortable with the idea of her moving in with you."

"It's just…"

"I know what you're going to tell me. That she could compromise everything. But be honest with yourself, Riley, that's not the real reason you hate the idea of living with her."

Riley raises an eyebrow, she knows exactly what's coming.

"You think if she moves back in, you go back to being Riley Davis, your mother's little girl."

Riley nods, sighing. "Every time I came home, she made me feel...like a child. I couldn't tell her the truth about what I do for a living, so she doesn't realize how many risks I take, how many times I've almost died. So she still just asks me to load the dishwasher and take out the trash."

"And that bothers you."

"I feel like she can't see me." Riley shrugs. "But what really bothers me is that I'm okay with it." She sighs. It's easy. It's easy to pretend, to act normal. But it's a giant lie. Mom doesn't know a thing about the real me. She knows a ghost. Someone who doesn't exist anymore. And somehow, I'm totally fine with letting that go on.

"You think because you need to lie to her about your job, she doesn't know the real you anymore." Sam looks down at her hands, and then back up at Riley. "You're so much more than this job, Riley. And I'm sure she has plenty of chances to see someone who's kind, and selfless, and brave, and smart, and independent."

Riley smiles, but she refuses to let this get overly sappy. I can't do emotional right now… "And here I thought you were going to call me messy, disorganized, and say I have infuriatingly bad taste in music."

"I was trying to make you feel better, but if you wanted honesty…" Sam laughs. "I'll warn her she should guard her overnight oatmeal if she wants to avoid poisoning."

"Remind me again why we're friends?"

"Because I know all your deepest, darkest secrets." Cage chuckles. "And I can either be your best friend…"

"Or your worst enemy," Riley echoes the end, laughing.

* * *

Jack briefly sees Riley in the hall on his way to give Matty the update on the situation. She looks stressed out, and maybe it's just this mission, but he's got a feeling it's got more to do with the thing about her mom.

To be honest I'm not too enthusiastic either. It's been years since we dated but I don't know if she still hates me or not. Riley says she never even talks about me, unless something about Riley's fake job comes up. He knows Riley's been trying to push a reconciliation, but it sounds like Diane wants nothing to do with it. I don't blame her. I stood her up over and over, and it's not fair to ask her to live around my insane work schedule.

That doesn't mean there isn't still a bit of a wish buried somewhere that wants to see her again and see if there's still something there. Riley says she hasn't dated again since. So either I permanently scarred her for dating, or she misses what we had. He's afraid it's the first option.

But he has bigger problems than his failed love life at the moment. He has an op he needs to wrap up before something really bad happens to Mac.

"I've got the location of the next race. I'll need to put together a tac team to nail them before they get the chance to run. Because if we lose them, we're never gonna catch them."

"We still need some kind of proof they're actually doing something illegal besides the races," Matty says. "If we want to totally shut down the operation."

"Can't we just nail them for racing and figure everything else out later?"

"It's possible, but risky. We'd rather take them down for the gun-running, if possible." Jack knows Matty is right. Her job is to see the big picture, to be an impartial observer. And busting these guys for the real charges will mean they don't have a chance to post bail and skip town.

"I don't know how far I can push. These guys have lasted this long because they don't trust easily. It could take weeks or months to get in deep enough to get that kind of information, and we don't have that time. That shipment of G-36s is probably due to be run any day now." And Mac's getting closer and closer to his breaking point. Jack can tell he's struggling; there's visible relief in his face whenever they leave the garage.

He hates how often Mac is treated like this. It's almost as if there's some kind of beacon or a 'kick me' sign on him that labels him fair game for those stares and comments. I feel like I worry about him as much as I do Riley. Maybe even more. He's always known the risks Riley faces out in the field, for sure, and there have been more than a few close calls, but there have also been several shattered wrists and broken noses. Riley has a fight instinct in those situations, and years of training. Mac tries to fight back, but the amount of trauma he's had already usually ends up making him shut down; his reaction is to retreat and ignore. And no matter how much Jack's trained him, it hasn't been long enough yet for that to be muscle memory.

Jack wonders if there's some kind of noticeable evidence that Mac's been victimized. Do people who think like that see the worry in his eyes when someone brushes against him?

Matty's phone buzzes, and she glances at it. "Looks like LAPD just picked up one of your friends, Diego Rojas, for a domestic violence call. Sounds pretty nasty; I don't think he's going to be seeing the light of day for a while."

This is exactly the break Jack needed. We're desperate because we're running out of time. But they're running out of time too. They can't store those guns forever, and now they're down a man. I might be able to slide into his place, if I can prove I'm good enough and can be trusted.

"Matty, I'm gonna need you to hold off on that tac team. I need to make sure there's no trouble tomorrow night. Because I'm going to get what I need to take them down."

* * *

SATURDAY NIGHT

THE CORNER OF GRAND AND THE ALLEY

Jack doesn't have to fake admiring the cars parked in a line down the alley. There's everything from classic 70s to a car he swears shouldn't even have hit the streets yet. He and Mac wander the lineup, discussing the various merits of the vehicles. Mac seems partial to a brown and gold '67 Mustang Fastback, but Jack can't get past the Chevy Impala, the same year as the Fastback. It's jet black with a red pentagram design on the hood, and Jack can see the name "Hell on Wheels" stenciled on the side. There's a kid who reminds him a lot of Mac tinkering around under the hood, and a slightly older guy leaning on the car talking to him. Jack grins, clearly he's not the only one who's part of a mechanic/driver team. Although these two look like siblings.

He wants to stay and talk to them, but he can see Julio and his guys clustered around their cars a little further down the line, and his plan depends on selling them one hell of a story.

He leaves Mac with the GTO. Julio's guys seem to have a hierarchy, and clearly people who aren't drivers aren't welcome in the inner circle. He likes to make sure he keeps his secrets close, that's probably why he's still in business.

He groans theatrically and rubs his back as he walks up. "Damn, moving into a fourth floor apartment is a bitch. Hope I didn't throw my back out again." The best way to sell a lie is to keep most of the truth. Jack's apartment is a fourth floor one. He likes the vantage points. Spend your whole life as a sniper and an overwatch, and you like knowing you have a good view.

"Maybe you should have planned a little better," Ruiz chuckles. "I'm sure you could have found something better than the fourth floor."

"It was that or living outta the cars," Jack mutters. "And at least I didn't have a crap ton of things to carry up there. It wasn't really a planned move if you know what I mean." Jack shrugs. Juli checked my cover, he's got to have seen the faked LVPD and Nevada State warrants out on Nick . "I'm kinda starting over from the ground up. And that apartment was the cheapest I could get. Not even sure I'm gonna make the payments on that and the vehicle storage I rented for next month. I gotta old Shelby that I can't keep in the apartment garages. One car per unit's all they'll allow." Another truth. The Shelby is stored, along with the stuff Momma made him finally move out of his old room at the house in Texas, in a unit a few blocks from the apartment. He really needs to go through that someday…

"Yeah, LA's not cheap." Juli shakes his head. "Not even in the rough parts."

Jack nods. "I'll probably have to sell the Shelby. It would break my heart, but I know one of you guys would treat her right, and I'd much rather she go to you than some collector. She deserves better than dry-rotting on display somewhere. If anyone's interested..."

Ruiz chuckles, and Jack doesn't like the sound. "I got all the wheels I need. But if you're strapped for cash, why don't you just turn out that little puta you got? I guarantee you'd get more for him in the long run than for that Shelby. You'd have guys lined up to have a turn with a pretty boy like that." His husky voice indicates he'd probably be one of the first.

Jack is ready to grab a tire iron and brain someone. "He's not on the table. Ever."

"He sure looks like it, the way he bends over those engines. You know, someday someone's just not gonna ask. You might as well be getting paid for what they're gonna do anyway." Jack clenches his fist tighter, he can feel his fingernails biting into his palm. "You could charge pretty steep, if you wanted. You can tell he'd be worth it."

Jack shakes his head, he thinks if he opens his mouth, he's going to scream.

Jorge speaks up. "Sure looks like he's good with his hands. I'd pay to find out." Jack sees Ruiz nod. This can't be happening. He can't believe these men would pay him to hand Mac over to them.

I'm sure this is what it was like for him in prison. The only value Mac had to anyone was what he was useful to them for. He can't imagine how twisted someone has to be to see a person like that. Because he just wants to be sick at the thought that these people can even assume Jack would ever treat Mac like all he is to him is a quick way to make money.

"I said, he's not for sale. It's the car, or nothing."

"Think about it," Ruiz says. "And let me know if you change your mind." Jack shudders in disgust, but he hides it the best he can and turns back to his car. That didn't go as planned. He feels sick. I need to wrap this op up before they make good on that threat that they'll take what they want without paying. He is not going to be the reason Mac gets traumatized again.

He jumps at the hand on his arm as Juli pulls him aside. "Hey, man, next time they cross the line like that, feel free to give 'em something to remember. I can't be playing favorites to the new guy and giving my own crew a problem, but you look like you can handle yourself anyway." Jack just nods. "You know, if you really want to unload that Shelby, I'd take her. But if you're just looking to score some fast cash, we've got a nice little side business going on. Have you back on your feet in no time."

Jack takes a slow breath. He's not asking about Mac. I hope. "How much are we talking?"

"Five thousand in cash, for one night of work." He grins. "And that's just the starting rate. You do well, you could be making ten a run easy."

"Sounds almost too good to be true. So what do I have to do to make that kinda cash?" He still has to pretend he doesn't know what's really happening here. And it's harder than usual. I'm letting emotions get in the way. But damn it, I don't know who wouldn't after that.

"Tell you what, Stokes. You show me what you're made of, out there, and then I decide if you're in."

* * *

Jack winks at Mac when he comes to get the GTO. It looks like he's excited about their chances, and Mac really hopes that means they're going to finish this op tonight. He's seen too many people staring at him, and one guy stood way too close and spent way too long supposedly admiring the GTO's engine. Mac thinks he was watching something else, and he's glad it didn't go further. He definitely smelled marijuana on the guy.

Cars are lining up on the street. Jack's not the first race of the night, and Mac watches the two cars that are starting first pull up, revving their engines and drawing cheers or yells from the crowd. Even most of the guys hanging around the cars still in the alley are heading that way; Mac hears several of them making bets on the winners.

They're all watching the racing. It's the perfect time to do a little digging. Mac ignores the little Jack-sounding voice in his head that says this is a bad idea. I'm just gonna look around a little. And if I get caught, I'll tell them I was looking for a tool.

The cars slated for racing are all lined up along the alley, hoods open and engines on display. But there are several more in a garage that backs up onto the alley. It's dark, but Mac can see the graffiti that's specific to the La Ola cartel on some of the bay doors. I wonder if this is one of the places they're stashing guns? La Ola had started decentralizing their drop points around the time he got arrested. They were trying to make their main warehouses harder to find. Only a few people knew the actual location, and they took the guns around and distributed them to smaller holding locations before they got sent out. That way, a bust was more likely to take down one of the small operations.

He ducks inside through one of the side doors and switches on the flashlight on his phone. There are a few cars inside that are definitely legitimately under repair, but he sees a few he recognizes from Julio's shop. I wonder if they use these races as a cover for picking up guns. He remembers from Matty's briefings that most of the runs take place on Sundays. Lots of vehicles in and out, and they always choose locations the cops are less likely to find…

He sees the car Melina was working on, apparently she got it running again. That car was definitely one of the ones that was being used for smuggling; maybe it's here to pick up another load.

Perfect. Mac pulls out a paperclip and starts picking the lock. For things like this the guns are usually stored in false trunk bottoms. If I can just get pictures… He pops the lock open and glances around inside. There's no immediately obvious way to get into a compartment, but he's worked on this make and model before and he can tell the trunk is definitely not as deep as it should be. He taps on it, and there's a hollow sound.

He feels along the edges until he finds something that feels like a narrow metal strip. He tugs on it, and the bottom of the trunk swings up and open, revealing a shallow space underneath.

The compartment is empty, but Mac swipes a finger around the inside and pulls it out, noting the distinctive odor of gun oil. They were definitely running weapons in here. He takes a few photos of the space and then lowers the false bottom again, closing and locking the trunk. Matty has a tac team standing by to raid the second Jack gets his intel, but I still don't want to make anyone suspicious.

Mac bends down to look at the undercarriage. There's still some of the sand flung up in the wheel-wells and the curve of the bumper. Any cars with that kind of debris under them are suspicious. He doesn't have time to pick every trunk lock, but he can get photos of the plates for the cars that have sand in the chassis.

He's at the third car in the line when he hears the door creak. He shuts off his phone's flashlight and ducks low, hoping he can roll under the car before anyone sees him. Unfortunately, it seems like his luck is as bad as always.

"What are you doing back here?" The voice makes him jump, and he scrambles to his feet guiltily. If I try to hide I'll make it worse, and they'll know something's wrong . Julio's crew are standing there.

"Um...I need an impact wrench?" Mac deadpans. "Ours broke."

"Like this one?" Ruiz holds up the impact driver sitting very visibly on top of one of the toolboxes. "Either you're blind, amigo , or you're looking for something very different." Oh, this is not gonna go well.

* * *

CHINESE AMBASSADOR'S HOUSE

YES, THEY HAVE INVITATIONS

"If I hear another word about trade agreements or tariff restrictions, I'm going to lose patience and drag him off for interrogation myself." Sam sighs, leaning toward Riley and keeping her voice just low enough to fade away under the echo of the ambassador's speech.

"At least the food's good." Riley has a plate piled high with what looks like one of everything from the buffet table.

"You're as bad as Jack. We're here to work." Sam glances around the packed room. There are good and bad things to being at an event like this. The good things are that it's easy to blend into a crowd, it's not weird to be asking a lot of questions about the people there, and if you wait a little while, people tend to drink a little more than they should of the complimentary alcohol. The bad things are that these places are crowded, hard to get out of, security can be a nightmare, and people have the tendency to freak out if someone unexpectedly pulls a gun.

Finally, the speech is over and the ambassador steps down to mingle with the crowd. It's hard to get through, of course everyone wants to talk to him, but people tend to move instinctively when Sam and Riley come through. She wonders if they can sense that they're dealing with someone it won't be wise to get in the way of.

"Mr. Ambassador," Cage says. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Anna Chase, and this is my associate Emily Grant." She holds out the business card of the fake tech company her cover is in charge of. "I sincerely hope you're able to make those lower trade restrictions a reality. My company depends on the components we manufacture in your country, and these unreasonable import laws are strangling our profits."

She can tell her flattery has gotten his attention. "It is an honor to find someone who shares my opinions on trade, Miss Chase." He glances at the room. "Very few people understand the...benefits of a less restricted exchange."

Sam doesn't need to be a skilled people reader to see that she's set the hook. "I must say, your country has certainly benefited me. My company has thrived since we were able to outsource the component manufacturing." She rests a hand with false casualness on his arm. "I've been hoping I would be able to manage a trip to see the factories in person, but I'm afraid that's never been viable. My schedule is so overwhelming. Thankfully Emily is good at making sure I have a little time for myself."

The ambassador laughs. He knows the game she's playing, or he thinks he does. I'm sure he believes that I'm here to trade some...favors...to get him to pay off the right people to look the other way about something my company is planning. Clearly he's not above buying in. I didn't expect he would be, knowing he's taking payments from arms dealers.

The man's arm slides around Sam's waist, hand too low to mean anything other than one thing, and she laughs, leaning a little closer and hating every second of this charade. I can't wait till I get to pull a knife on him.

"You ought to arrange a visit. It would be well worth your time."

"I was under the impression I was visiting your country now," Sam purrs. "After all, the embassy is technically Chinese soil, is it not?"

"It is a small piece of home." He smiles. "But this does not do it justice. This part of the house, this is for the Americans. But my office, that is where it truly feels like I am still in China." He slips an arm through hers. "If you truly cannot be persuaded to actually fly across the sea, perhaps you would like to experience just that tiny piece?"

"I would be honored." She smiles wider.

Once they're inside the room, the ambassador dismisses his security and Cage wanders through the room, commenting on the various art hangings and vases. "This really is a gorgeous office, Mr. Ambassador. And I'm so glad we could share a little...private time." She twirls a lock of hair around her finger and pushing the man down into his chair. She hears a soft thump from the hallway, Riley dealing with the security, most likely. She covers it with a laugh as she removes the man's tie, pulls his hands behind the chair, and ties them tightly. The next second, she's back in front of him, watching the look in his eyes shift from hazy lust to undisguised fear as he stares at the point of a knife inches from his throat.

Riley pushes the door open. "Excellent timing, Sam." Her hair has fallen out of its careful updo, and she's holding her shoes in one hand. One of them has a snapped off heel. Looks like she was taking out her frustrations about her mom on these guys.

"Who are you people?" The ambassador chokes out.

"If you want to keep your head attached to your neck, you should leave the asking questions part up to us," Riley says. Wow. She's definitely not messing around tonight. Riley sits down at the desk computer. "Get me his passwords, Sam."

"My pleasure." She turns back to the hyperventilating man. "Now I have some questions for you. And if you answer them all, your bosses back in Beijing never need to know you let two foreign operatives into your private study."

The knife and the threats do the trick, and in less than fifteen minutes Riley has access to the ambassador's offshore accounts, and has planted a worm virus that should be able to trace the source of the payments from the terrorists back to a location.

She closes the computer and stands up, smiling. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Ambassador."

The hallway is empty, but Sam's well-trained enough to see some blood smears on the carpet leading to a closet. "Riley?"

"I busted one's nose. Always bleeds like crazy," Riley shrugs. "Didn't do any permanent damage."

Sam shakes her head and clicks on her comms before heading for the window at the end of the hall. Might as well avoid the party altogether. "We have the intel, Matty."

"Good, because I need you two to back Jack up right now." Matty's voice is clipped. "His mission is compromised and Mac is missing."

Riley glances at Cage, and there's a flicker of panic in her eyes. If something happens, she'll think it's her fault for not being there. Their phones ping simultaneously, probably the location of Jack's race.

The last two times Riley got split up from her team like this, Mac got hurt. Badly. Sam's sure that's all that's running through her friend's mind right now. "Riley, it's okay, it's going to be fine."

"I know. Let's go."

* * *

Jack revs the GTO as he pulls into place next to Juli's Camaro, and leans out the window to wave to the bystanders. "Who's Stoked for tonight?" Jack yells. He doesn't get the response Juli's earlier shout did, but that's because most of these people don't know him. It doesn't really matter, he's here to show off and make sure he sells his cover perfectly. Because if all goes well, by the end of the night, he'll have everything he needs to put Gomez and his guys away.

He can't deny there's something enjoyable about the thrill of the crowd. He can see how people are willing to risk getting caught for this. And he hasn't even started the race yet. I'm lucky. I get to drive like this for my job, and it's...well, maybe not always legal, but I usually don't get in trouble for it.

He's watched a couple of the other guys race already, and he's gotten the feel for how this group seems to race. It's pretty fair, he hasn't seen anyone pull any dirty tricks yet. Which means he's just going to have to be better than Juli. I can do this.

He waits for the signal, and then guns the GTO straight out of the start, steering carefully to avoid the worst of the fishtailing. If I can get in front of him and stay there, that might be the only chance I have of winning. But Juli's car is just a little faster on the takeoff, and Jack finds himself running off the rear quarterpanel, barely avoiding getting passed.

He pulls out a little farther, hoping to just push harder than the other car, but he's fairly well matched and the GTO doesn't have the special modifications the other car does. Jack's car is streamlined, but it's a little heavier, with the all metal body. The two vehicles barrel down the street, engines roaring. Jack knows these races are over before anyone expects it.

Mac, I sure hope this plan of yours works. He reaches for the dash and tugs on the wire running through there and into the engine. Mac swears whatever he did won't hurt the car, and Jack really hopes he's right. If he did it wrong I may not live long enough to find out.

The GTO's engine pitch rises to a screaming whine and the car leaps forward, gaining on the Camaro and putting the front bumper over the line just seconds before Juli's car. Jack spins into a stop at the end. Holy crap that was awesome. Mac is gonna be so glad that worked.

"Hell yeah, baby!" Jack leaps out of the car, pumping his fist in the air. Juli looks startled but impressed. Hopefully that's good enough to get him an in.

And then he stops cheering, realizing what's missing. Mac should be right here. There's no reason for him to be anywhere but at the race. He should be right here babbling physics terms and popping the hood to get a look at exactly how whatever he did performed.

Stop panicking. It's a big crowd, maybe he's somewhere in the middle. Jack pulls out his phone and shoots off a text. **Won, and your doohickey worked great. Where are you?** Mac doesn't respond.

He probably just didn't hear the text come in. Right? But the slowly spreading dread is sapping all the energy out of the air. Jack's still waving, still smiling, still pretending this is the best thing that's happened all night. But he can't see Mac anywhere.

Juli is looking at his own phone, and frowning. Jack sees him glance quickly his direction, then back to the phone. What... The pieces fall into place with a disturbing finality. Mac decided to speed things up and do some investigating on his own. Not that Jack blames him, there was no certainty he was going to get Juli's approval, and they need to take these guys down soon. And he knows La Ola's methods, maybe he figured out where they were stashing the guns. But none of that matters, because the way this looks, Mac got caught.

Jack glances up the street, just in time to see an old yellow Camaro, one he recognizes from the shop, pulling out of the garage alley. And then he sees the brown shoe waving itself out of a busted out taillight. Mac!

Jack guns the car, and thankfully the still-cheering crowd have the sense to get out of the way. He's already spun the GTO around in his victory circle, and it's seconds before he's on the road after the car. But Mac's little air intake trick will only work once, and try as he might Jack is struggling to gain on the disappearing car.

If Juli's guys get Mac away from him, God only knows what they're going to do to him. They could very well be planning to kill him and dump his body in the ocean somewhere. But he can't forget the conversation from earlier, and he's seen the stares when Mac's leaning over an engine, heard the mumbled innuendos and dirty jokes. They could keep him for themselves, or sell him. None of these options ends well for Mac, and Jack is sure the kid is painfully aware of that too.

He presses Matty's number. "Matty, the whole thing went to hell, they've got Mac. Round them all up now." If these guys do manage to ghost on him, maybe one of the other racers will know where they went.

The car is heading out of town, up into the hills. Jack can tell they're angling for the ocean, he can smell the salt breeze. Are they planning on dumping a body, or are they gonna take him to a boat?

The road is a series of switchback curves heading down toward the water here. The other car is slowing down, understandably. Jack doesn't hesitate. I've done this before. In a military convoy truck. Without brakes. He whips the GTO around the first curve, then the next. Now he's barely half a curve away from the other car.

I could run them off the road by clipping the rear end, but that runs the risk of hurting Mac. He can still see that shoe in the broken taillight. He'll have to get in front and force them off.

He takes the next corner on two wheels. There's a horribly weightless moment where he thinks the car might actually flip, but now the heavy metal body is working in his favor, because it slams the car back onto the road right side up. Jack guns the engine and moves just a bit ahead of the other vehicle, creeping into its lane, forcing the driver to slow before he gets into a deadly crash. The car skids to a stop just a few feet away from the next switchback, and Jack jumps out, pulling his gun on the two men inside. Ruiz is driving, and Jack fights back a horrible surge of nausea.

"Get out of the car." Jack keeps his gun on both men until they're standing in front of him, then knocks them both out fast. He doesn't have the time to tie them up, and he's not taking that gun off them for a second. He snatches the keys out of the ignition and rushes to the trunk, fumbling to get it open. "Mac, I'm gonna get you outta there, just give me a second, okay? I'm coming."

The trunk pops open, and Jack stares down at Mac, curled up shaking in the corner. Mac looks up at him, and Jack can tell there are tear streaks on his face, silvery in the moonlight. "Hey, it's okay, it's gonna be okay." He gently pulls the tape off the kid's mouth and cuts the zipties holding his hands and legs. "Hey, Mac, are you hurt?" He doesn't dare touch Mac if something terrible happened.

Mac just shakes his head, and then reaches for Jack, shivering, eyes desperate. Jack reaches in and pulls him out, now that he knows Mac's okay with being touched. I'm always afraid I'll scare him more, when all I want to do is hold on tight and protect him.

"Mac, it's okay. I got you. It's okay." Mac is shaking, fingers clutched tightly in Jack's shirt. Last time someone knocked him out and shoved him in a car trunk... Last time was Mexico. Jack is sincerely grateful this didn't end in a similar way.

Jack hugs him tightly, feeling Mac's tears soaking his shirt, and his own running down his cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm right here. Oh kiddo, I got you, I got you."

* * *

INSIDE A CAR TRUNK

THIS NEVER GOES WELL

Mac shivers. The smell of trunk carpet and exhaust fumes is making him dizzy and shaky. As is the thought of what's waiting for him at the end of this. Ruiz's smile and the hands roaming him while the man ziptied him and tossed him in the trunk are truly horrifying. He's going to do whatever he wants, whether they want to kill me or not. He can't tell if he just managed to blow the whole op, if they know what he was here for, or if they just think he's a troublemaker. Maybe all they wanted was an excuse to drag me off somewhere and… He stops himself there. Thinking about that won't help him get out of this.

His phone is gone, smashed up in some dark corner of that shop. Jack would think that was funny. Mac swallows down the sudden urge to sob. No, don't think like that, he's gonna come find you and then you can laugh about the phone around the fire later.

The car swerves around a tight corner and Mac slams into the side of the trunk. His ankle, still sticking out of the hole where he kicked out the taillight, is suddenly in a world of pain, and he'd scream if there wasn't a strip of duct tape slapped over his mouth. His head hurts, his shoulders hurt, his whole body hurts.

The smell of dust and sand is stronger, and Mac flinches. In the back of a car...crossing the border...heading down to Mexico, all alone. Jack doesn't know where he is, no one knows, no one will care because all he is is another escaped prisoner who vanished...

He blinks; he's wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, not an orange jumpsuit. Focus, get a grip. Or these flashbacks are going to get you killed. He was hoping things were going to get better, after the appeal and the worst of the charges getting dropped. I thought knowing I didn't have to be scared of going back would make those things just a bad memory. But he's just as terrified as ever.

He focuses on what's different this time. He can smell the ocean, not endless sandiness. Are they just planning to kill me and dump the body? He feels sick that that's almost a relief. No, don't think like that, you have to focus on finding a way out. He hopes someone saw the kicked out taillight. They should call the police if they did... Not that he particularly wants to deal with the police either, but anything is better than simply disappearing, probably being used and then killed. They wouldn't lock me up, would they? Not when I'm the one who got kidnapped...

And then he hears the sound of a very familiar engine. That's the GTO. Jack came after me. He knows he's crying now, but he doesn't really care, because it's relief, not fear. Even as the car swings around more corners, slamming him into the side of the trunk, aggravating existing bruises and making new ones, he doesn't feel that raw panic anymore.

And then the trunk opens and Jack is there, and Mac's not really sure of how any of it happens, but eventually he's sitting in the back seat of the GTO and Jack is right there beside him with his arm around Mac's shoulders. "It's okay. I'm right here." Mac is dimly aware that the two men from the car are laying on the ground, out cold. Should it bother me that Jack resorted to that? Because it doesn't, really. He shivers, glancing at the other car and quickly looking away.

"I couldn't get out," he whispers. He hates admitting this to anyone, but Jack won't use it against him. Jack never does.

"You did real good, though. You helped me find you, you kicked out that taillight. But you know, if you're planning on using your own foot as a distress signal, you might be better off to wear some of those neon sneakers Penny always had."

"I don't think that would have fit in well in the shop," Mac chuckles. Jack can always make him smile, no matter how bad it gets.

"Yeah, probably not." Jack shakes his head.

"But…" Mac reaches in his pocket, there's still one paperclip there. He pulls it out and starts bending it into the shape of a key. "When I was in that trunk, all I could think about was El Noche. About being taken down to Mexico, and what happened…" He shivers. "I thought I wouldn't think about that anymore after a while."

"No one expects you to be over that in less than a year, Mac. Most field agents don't come back at all from something like that."

"But Jack, what if it never gets any better? How am I supposed to do my job if every time I'm in a small space, I get flashbacks?"

Jack pulls back a little and turns so he's facing Mac, and there's something deeply serious in his voice and eyes. "Listen, kiddo, we all have things we can't handle. Riley's scared to death of needles and being unconscious, after that stunt she pulled in Malaysia to save Ralph. She refused an anesthetic when we took her to the hospital after she got shot, remember?" Mac nods.

"But that isn't something that happens very often…"

"And if I have my way, you getting shoved in a trunk is not going to happen again ever. " Jack shakes his head. "Everyone's scared of something. Even me."

"Even you?" Mac mock-laughs. "I didn't think I'd ever hear Jack Dalton say he was scared of something." He expects it to be something like snakes, especially after that mission in Uruguay. But Jack doesn't even smile, and there's the same aching seriousness in his voice.

"I'm scared of losing one of you kids. Mac, when I saw your shoe sticking out of that taillight, I freaking lost it." He shakes his head. "I blew the whole mission to go after you. It's a good thing there was a Phoenix team there prepared to step in. Because it didn't matter to me right then if we arrested those guys or not. All that mattered to me was that you were gonna be safe." There's a shaken quaver in Jack's voice. Mac leans closer against him, he's not sure who is more reassured by the closer contact. No matter how many times he reminds me how important I am in his world, it's so hard to remember.

He stays there, leaning against Jack, until he hears a car coming. Riley and Cage step out, and get to work cuffing the still unconscious guys on the ground. Both of them come over to see him and Jack, and he can see the worry in their eyes.

He doesn't tell them he's okay, it's too soon for that. But he does tell them he will be. And that is the truth.

* * *

MAC'S HOUSE

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER COMPLETED MISSION

Jack grins as he clinks his bottle against Riley's. "Well, congratulations on your first successful op as a team leader. You're making me feel old, kiddo."

"At least you're finally acknowledging it, old man." Riley ducks the hand aimed to playfully slap the back of her head. "You started it, Jack."

"You really did." Bozer sits down and starts passing around plates of fresh-off-the-grill wings. Jack glances skeptically at the ones smothered in some kind of orange sauce.

"That's not your Uncle What's-His-Name's hot sauce, is it?"

"No, it's not, because you drank it all and I haven't been to see him since," Boze says. "This is just good old fashioned sriracha." Jack pulls his hand back.

"Thanks, I'll pass." He likes spicy food. Sriracha, he insists, is not 'spicy'. It's a concentrated attack on the taste buds.

Riley grabs three of the wings, then hands the plate on to Sam, holding it over a drooling Mickey's head.

"Ah, give him one, then maybe he'll stop begging," Jack chuckles. Mac puts an arm around the dog's back protectively.

"Don't listen to Jack," he mutters, and Mickey turns around to lick his face; Mac has some of the barbecue sauce dripped on his chin and smudged on one cheek. "H-hey, stop, you can clean my hands okay?" He holds them up defensively, and Mickey's immediately attacking them with enthusiastic licking.

Matty and Patty, sitting next to each other, exchange a glance that Jack is sure is nothing short of We actually trust these people to save the world on a consistent basis.

"We have a solid lead on the location of the arms dealer who's been paying the Chinese ambassador now," Sam says. "A team is on location to take him down in a couple of hours."

"And Gomez and his whole crew are facing a whole lot of prison time," Jack adds. "Thanks to Mac figuring out where the guns were being hidden in the cars, we were able to pin the weapons smuggling on them in addition to the illegal racing. And a few of them are going down for kidnapping as well." He feels Mac shiver slightly.

Patty glances at Jack. "When we confiscated Gomez's cell phone, we found a series of messages that led us to the location of the warehouse they'd stashed the stolen G-36 shipment in. All the guns have been seized, accounted for, and quietly returned to the CIA."

"So despite the fact that the mission was compromised, in the end it was a full success," Matty continues. "We have Gomez and his people in custody, and we have the guns back where they belong."

"And we have Mac back where he belongs," Jack reminds them, putting his arm around the kid's shoulders. He's got yet another official reprimand on his permanent record, he thinks he might be racking up one a mission now. But it's worth it to make sure Mac stays safe.

He knows he broke every rule in the book. The mission is always supposed to come first. But that's never been the way it was with Riley, and that's not how it is with Mac, either. There is never going to be anything in the world more important than the safety of his kids. He glances around the circle on the deck. I wouldn't trade this family for anything. Ever.

* * *

RILEY'S APARTMENT

NO INDICATION THAT IT BELONGS TO AN INTERNATIONAL SPY

Riley shoves her fake ID papers into the space Sam was using, behind the loose baseboard. Mom's probably going to go through all my cupboards and complain about my food choices. Even the bathroom cleaning supply caddy probably isn't safe. Knowing her, she's going to decide that even though the apartment is as pristine as I can get it, she has to do it herself. Diane is the kind of person who will insist on being a helpful guest. Riley sighs, glancing around the room and mentally assessing whether it's parent-proofed.

She's spent the last twenty-four hours on a whirlwind cleaning spree. All guns in the secret cabinet, all high-tech gadgets hidden away. I feel like I'm in Mr. and Mrs. Smith but my mom isn't another secret agent. At least that I know of.

She's never had an excuse not to clean her place before someone visits. Most people worry about their guests finding dust on the mantel, or mold somewhere in the shower. She has to worry about them opening the bathroom cabinet and finding the antitoxin kits, or pulling out a box of cereal and getting her backup Glock instead of Cocoa Pebbles.

She's about to call it good when she sees the lockpicking kit prominently displayed on her bookshelf. She grabs it, stuffs it behind three volumes of the complete works of Charles Dickens (Mom always claims everything but A Christmas Carol is too depressing for her taste) along with several spare comm sets and a few half-completed bugs. Most of my stuff is at the Phoenix or at Jack's place, but you never know when you're going to really need something right away.

Her phone buzzes.

**I forgot what you told me the entry code was.**

Riley shakes her head before typing her reply. **I'll be right down.**

Riley sighs and gives the room one more onceover. Last few moments of freedom. Before Diane walks back into her life and makes her feel like she's fifteen again. At least this time I don't have to deal with one of the boyfriends.

She hurries down the stairs and pulls open the front door.

"Honey?" Diane drops her bags on the doorstep and reaches for Riley.

"Hi Mom."


	3. Roulette Wheel and Wire

203-Roulette Wheel+Wire

SIBERIA

AKA THE ICE PLANET HOTH

Jack scrambles back through the cave entrance, gasping. His nose feels like a block of ice, so do his hands. He was glad, this morning, that the storm had stopped, and it was possible to lay out some kind of sign for rescue pilots. But he thinks it just got colder. On the bright side, his banged up ribs and shoulder are feeling better. Or just going numb. Crashing a snowmobile sucks.

"I got the SOS done, Mac. I kinda messed it up, but it's too cold to stay out there and fix it." He should have known, he's never good at judging the right sizing for letters. Like the time he tried to make a birthday cake for his sister and it ended up saying "Happy Birthd" because he ran out of space. I think a botched SOS is only slightly more life-threatening. Laura was none too enthusiastic. Probably because she'd just started middle school and wanted all the friends she invited for the party to think she was cool. Jack always said he was just letting them know from the start that Laura was anything but normal.

Mac looks up from the pile of mechanical stuff he's working on; his cheeks are bright pink, his lips are bluish, in the places they're not cracked and stained with dried blood, and his breath is making shaky clouds. He shuffles to the entrance and glances out the opening before ducking back inside. "It k-k-kinda looks l-like the formula for s-s-sulfur dioxide. S, and O, and a l-little s-squiggly thing."

"You must be worse off than I thought if you're muttering gibberish like that," Jack jokes weakly. "Did you drink that water I warmed up for you?"

"The one with the s-sticks in it?" Mac asks, making a face. "Yeah, I d-did. It t-t-tasted awful." He's shivering violently, arms hugged tightly around himself. "I'm t-trying to f-finish the r-r-radio."

"Hey, you can take a break, it's not going anywhere. You've been working on that for two days." Jack reaches for Mac, rubbing his shoulders. "Hey, were you working on that damn thing without gloves on? You're gonna freeze your fingers off." He takes his own off and tugs them over Mac's hands, pulling his hands back into his sleeves.

"I h-have to get it d-done so we can g-go home." Mac glances back at the tangle of wires and snowmobile parts. "We h-have to get out of h-here before another n-night."

"Uh, hate to break it to you, bud, but night's comin' real fast." Jack glances out at the already darker landscape. "Let's just rest for tonight and we'll get back at it in the morning." He's pretty damn cold himself, but he's at least got some insulation. Mac's still too skinny; he's not doing any too well right now, and Jack wants to make sure he stays as warm as possible. If he stays up all night working on that thing, he'll get frostbite.

"We c-can't sleep, we'll f-freeze."

"No, we'll be okay. We'll just huddle up for warmth, alright?" Jack unzips his jacket, shuddering at the bite of the icy winter wind. He pulls Mac close to him, wrapping the jacket around them both. "I've done this before, I promise, we'll live." He vividly remembers the last time he was in Siberia, with Sarah Adler, doing the same thing to make sure they made it through another night. He tries not to remember she lost half a toe to frostbite. We were walking ourselves out, though, trying to find help. He doesn't want to think about doing that again. Mac's radio better work...

"If we g-go to sleep we m-might not wake up," Mac whispers. "I don't w-want to die out h-here." Jack tugs Mac's hat a little lower over his ears.

"I'm not gonna let that happen, bud. Okay?" He wraps his arms as tightly around the kid as possible. "Just go to sleep, I'll keep you warm." He shifts slightly so Mac is as bundled up as possible. "Hey, one t-thing you can be grateful for, I'm not a dead, gutted tauntaun."

"Y-you still kinda s-smell like one though," Mac chuckles quietly.

"Hey, man, it's not my fault we haven't been able to shower in three days! And for the record, you don't smell so great yourself." He grins, even though Mac can't see his face. "When we get home, the first thing I'm gonna do is hop in a hot shower and sing Metallica till my voice gives out."

"That sounds n-nice," Mac mumbles, the warmth is probably dragging him closer and closer to sleep. "The sh-shower part, not the singing."

"Ah, man, and here I was thinking you were gonna ask me to sing you to sleep."

"Please don't," Mac whispers. "The acoustics in this cave would make it sooo much worse."

"I'll forgive that brutal attack on my vocal talents because you're hypothermic and you don't know what you're saying." Jack says softly. Mac doesn't answer, his breathing has steadied out and he's gone limp in Jack's arms, small white puffs of breath rising from his mouth. Jack falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Mac's breathing and heartbeat pressed close against him.

He wakes up to Mac literally jumping out of his arms. "Jack, I know why it wasn't working!"

"Wh-aat?" Jack always takes a few minutes to properly wake up, especially when he's gotten semi-warm and comfortable. He can see light filtering into the cave, they've been asleep for hours.

"I think the resistors aren't close enough together. I need to bridge them."

"Okay, cool, you do that, bud." Jack wraps his coat around himself. He's tired, and cold, and he just wants to sleep a little longer. Mac seems determined not to let that happen, though, he's banging metal stuff around and muttering to himself.

"It needs to be round..uh...few millimeters wide…" He's sorting through the piles of random crap he pulled off the wrecked snowmobile. Then he stops. "Wait…" Jack sees him glance at something on his wrist, then shake his head.

"You think a piece of that watch might do it?"

"I don't know…" Mac shakes his head. "I just keep thinking my dad left it for a reason, so I would find it, and use it to somehow find him. There has to be a clue here."

"Yeah, well, clue or no clue, that ain't gonna do us any good if we turn into popsicles out here." Jack shakes his head. Mac's still obsessed with finding his dad. And that scares me. If a psycho like James MacGyver wants to be found, he's playing some kind of game. He's stayed hidden for years. I'm sure this is some kind of trap, and Mac is gonna walk right in and spring it.

Mac sighs and pulls out his knife, popping the back off the watch. "You're right. I'll get us out of here, and we'll worry about that later." He opens the pliers on the knife, and then stops. "Jack, get me the light! Please, get me the light?" Jack does, kneeling down beside Mac. The kid's started shivering again, his hands are trembling where he's pointing with the pliers to one of the gears. "This-this gear r-right here, it's n-newer than the rest of the w-watch. Am I crazy or...is there s-s-something written on it? Right t-there?" He shivers harder. "This c-could be the c-clue to finding my dad."

"Or it could be a weird piece of metal with random numbers on it. Mac, just do what you gotta do and we'll figure this out somewhere warm, okay? I can't feel my butt, man." He's only half joking.

Mac pops out a small gear with the pliers and jams it into the radio. Jack can't see what he did, but he guesses it works. Mac blows on his fingers, pulls on his gloves, and then starts cranking the radio. When there's some buzzing static, he starts moving the speedometer he turned into a radio dial back and forth.

"Mayday, this is Firebird Seven, requesting an evac. Mayday, this is Firebird Seven." Jack really hopes this works. He has no idea what they're doing, but Mac does, so he's at least seventy-five percent sure this is a good plan. Although he's been in and out of makin' sense since the first night, so I don't know…

"Well, it took you both long enough." It's never been such a relief to hear Matty's voice.

"Nice of you guys to drop by!" Jack chuckles. Mac is laughing.

"Hold on, we have rescue choppers homing in on your signal right now."

It's not too much longer before Jack hears rotors outside. He and Mac stumble out of the cave, waving their arms.

"Thanks guys," Jack says, accepting a mug of coffee as the exfil team bundle him and Mac into blankets inside the chopper. The mug feels like it's scorching his hands, but he definitely doesn't care. I don't normally drink coffee, but at this point I'll take anything hot.

"Is that an S-O...comma?" Ted Hardy, the eastern Europe exfil team leader, yells from the front of the chopper.

"Yeah, yeah, make fun of the guy who failed third grade English." Jack can't stop laughing. They're on their way home. Everything is going to be just fine.

* * *

Mac shivers, tugging the blankets around himself. He can hardly believe this actually worked and they're going home. It's official, I hate hypothermia. At least a cut or even a bullet wound is localized pain. This is like knives all over his body, and even getting warm again is painful. His teeth won't stop chattering and he's already spilled coffee all over his hands and his blankets.

He curls up against Jack, letting the other man pull him in tightly. He knows there's multiple layers of blankets between them, but he still feels warmer from the contact. He wonders what it will feel like to actually get somewhere really warm. Three days is a long time to spend in a place like this. He knows he couldn't have made it a fourth, no matter what Jack kept insisting. I could barely even think straight, I was so cold. And I could barely move. He's still trembling violently.

"I can not believe your snowmobile radio actually worked," Jack says. "Man, that's got to be one of the coolest things you've ever done." He winces. "Sorry, that was a really bad choice of words."

Mac smiles, his face feels stiff when he does, and he feels his lips crack again. There's the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. "I'm sorry for getting upset about the watch," he mumbles.

"Hey, no hard feelings, kid. People say all kinda shit they don't mean when they're freezing to death. When we got stuck out there in the tundra on that CIA op, Sarah called me a lying backstabbing jerk and told me if we got out of that op alive she was gonna...well, separate me from a very important part of my anatomy." Jack chuckles.

"I just...It was selfish of me, to care more about finding…"

He feels a hand on his arm. "No, kid, that's not selfish. You're trying to do something good, catch a man who's taken innocent lives and could take more." Mac just nods and swallows. He doesn't know why I have to do this. That I need to look that man in the eyes and know if I'm capable of becoming a monster too. And the fact that he just prioritized a personal mission over possibly Jack's life means it very well might be possible. He shudders, and this time not from the cold.

"I should have done whatever it took to keep you safe."

Jack sighs, that long-suffering sound of 'we've been over this ground before'. "Mac, that is not your job. My job is to keep you safe. Your job is to do your crazy thing and save the world, which you are totally doing."

"I know you don't think me chasing my dad is a good idea, and I think you might be right," Mac says softly. "I'm starting to put that before everything else, and that scares me." He might as well be honest. "I don't want to end up like Walsh, he let hating my dad consume him. And he turned into a monster willing to throw anyone else into harm's way to get what he wanted."

"Mac, you are not anything like Walsh. You did the right thing, you just hesitated a little. That happens." Mac knows better than to start saying something about hesitation having no place in the field. Jack doesn't want to hear that. "Listen, kiddo, you're one of the absolute best people I know, in the whole world. And wanting to get some closure does not make you a bad person, it doesn't mean you're turning into a monster. It just means you're human."

"But you hate me talking about wanting to find my dad." Jack tries to hide it, but that look in his eyes, the way he clenches his fists, even the way he talked about that watch...he's not happy about this situation.

"No, no, Mac, I totally get it. I'm just afraid that man is playing with you. This whole scavenger hunt feels like some kinda twisted mind game. And I know you feel like you gotta prove something, and that's what I hate. That that jerk who never shoulda had someone as good as you in his life broke you to the point where you feel like you have to win his favor, even if it's just to track him down and put him away." Jack's voice is warm, warmer than the blankets or the coffee. "So if this really is just about trying to catch another baddie, I'm behind you one hundred percent. But if you're doing this because you want to prove you can win his little game, that you're finally good enough to outsmart him, then that's all the wrong reasons." Mac nods.

I don't know if that's why I'm doing this. He does know there's a part of him that's still desperate to hear his dad tell him he's done a good job, that he's succeeded. But that part's been getting a lot smaller over the past few months. Now he thinks he might rather hear Jack or Matty or Patty say he did a good job. And they will, when I bring in James…

He doesn't know when he fell asleep. All he knows is that when he wakes up, he's somewhere warm, and at some point, someone took his clothes and he's in a hospital gown. He sits up carefully, there's a warm weight that he realizes are heavy blankets spread over him, and he can feel the soft sting of an IV in his arm. He glances over at the next bed, where Jack is laying on his stomach. He glances up when Mac sits up and the blankets rustle.

"Hey, kiddo, how you feeling?"

"Like I wanna go home and hide in a bunch of blankets for a month." He tugs the ones on the bed a little closer around him. He still feels miserably cold, and when the nurse comes to check him she confirms that he's still slightly hypothermic, even though he's been in medical for almost twelve hours.

Once she's gone, he sits up carefully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and shivering when the air hits his skin, even though the infirmary is quite warm. Mac officially hates hospital gowns. There's never a good reason to have to wear one, at least not in his experience, and they're thin and way too short and he just feels so exposed. I thought they were supposed to be trying to warm me up, but this thing is so drafty and chilly.

He guesses it's better than Jack, apparently his complaints that he was getting "frost-butt" were actually valid. Mac's only issues are that he was severely hypothermic and his toes and ears have some minor frostbite.

He wraps a blanket tightly around him and stumbles over to Jack's bed. He knows it's a bit ridiculous, but he just feels warmer when he's next to Jack. "Jack, is it okay…" He doesn't even get the whole sentence out before Jack is scooting over to make room for him on the bed. Mac lays down, wrapping himself tightly in the blanket and curling up next to Jack, who rolls just enough to put an arm around his shoulder. Finally, Mac feels warm.

* * *

PHOENIX MEDICAL

A BALMY 72 DEGREES

Jack groans. This really sucks. But that should be the last of the injections. But sitting is gonna be painful for a while.

The door opens and he hears a theatrical shriek; that's definitely Bozer. "Oh my eyes! Why didn't anyone tell me Jack's ass was on the playlist?"

"Hey, can't a man with frost-butt get some respect?"

"It's not like it's anything I haven't seen before," Matty says. Riley giggles, Bozer makes a choked sound of distress. Mac is just sitting on the edge of the bed wide-eyed.

"I'd appreciate it if we didn't go there, Matty." Although which 'there' he's referring to could technically be vague. There was Mexico in '08, and then Caracas, but that was with Riley, and Budapest... okay, it's really not my fault I have a tendency to show up underdressed... in my defense one of those times the outdoor toilet blew over, once the pants were literally in the dryer...don't ask...and then the one time I was actually in the shower when those goons broke into the room, what else was I supposed to do?

"Calm down, Dalton, we're all just one big happy family." Matty shrugs.

"Which makes you the weird and slightly embarrassing dad," Riley chuckles.

"Okay, okay, laugh it up, fuzzballs," Jack grumbles. "Let's see how understanding I am the next time one of you kids lands your butts in here." Bozer groans, Riley stifles another giggle. "Well, I'm outta here, so adios amigos. Enjoy the view on the way out."

Matty slaps him, hard, and he flinches. Yep, still hurts. "Slow down, cowboy. This ain't a social call. We've got work."

"Oh, so this is a briefing?" Jack shakes his head. This isn't close to the first time he's had one in medical. "I hope we're getting a mission in the Caribbean."

"Why, are you looking to add sunburn to that frostbite?" Riley chuckles. That was a low blow. Kind of literally. But he can't say it doesn't sound like something he would say. I trained her too well.

"I won't need to, if you keep it up with those burns."

"Unfortunately, that's not where you're headed." Matty says. "Thanks to Cage and her interrogation of the Ten of Spades, we have tapped into a treasure trove of new intel, including a lead on the elusive terrorist group, the Red Fist."

"Oh man," Jack says. This is big. Really big.

"Red Fist?" Mac asks. He's swinging his legs and trying to look casual, but clearly this many people in the room when he's got next to nothing on is scaring him. For me, it's just mildly embarrassing; spend as long as I have in the field and nothing is sacred. But for Mac, it probably feels threatening and dangerous. He keeps tugging on the edge of the hospital gown, trying to pull it lower over his legs.

"Red Fist. They're an Eastern European group of radicals responsible for over 30 deadly attacks in the last decade."

"I thought you said they were terrorists," Bozer says. "These guys are stealing diamonds." Jack can't see the video, but he can hear the distinctive smashing of the glass cases.

Matty continues clicking through the briefing. "Well, in the last six weeks, it appears as though they've changed tactics, pulling off a dozen diamond heists all across Europe, hauling in an estimated $75 million."

"And I'm guessing they're not just gonna put this money away so they could retire someplace sunny, huh?" Bozer asks

Cage takes over from there. "The Ten of Spades says they want to use the stolen diamonds to finance a major attack. Every relevant detail of this forthcoming major attack remains a mystery. However, what we do know is where the diamonds themselves are being held: in a vault at the Karabakh Hotel and Casino in Azerbaijan."

"If we can cut off the funding, we stop the attack," Riley adds.

"So you want us to break into the casino and steal the diamonds before Red Fist can use them? This assignment just keeps getting better and better," Jack says, rolling over with a grin. "Now all I gotta do is come up with a cool cover name...I'm thinking something Ocean's Eleven themed…"

"Your cover IDs have already been chosen for you." There's a vicious delight in Matty's voice that Jack is sure does not bode for him. "Mac, you will be going in as Luke Arrington, an arms dealer with money to burn. Riley, you will be Emma Castillo, a notorious drug lord's girlfriend who's notorious in her own right for traveling with half her wardrobe. Should make it easy to sneak in all the gear you'll need to hack their system. Bozer, you will be Chet Walker, a money-laundering bad boy looking to spend some ill-gotten gains." Jack swears he can hear Bozer's smile. "Cage, you will be Francesca Moretti, heir apparent to a Sicilian crime family who may or may not be here to make someone disappear. And, Jack, you will be Ernie Bung, a disgraced accountant known for questionable bookkeeping." That smile is one of pure vengeance.

"Ernie Bung? Why can't I be Chet Walker? And a disgraced accountant? That's just shameful, that cover name sucks."

"Backstopped cover identities don't grow on trees, Dalton." Matty smiles. "Especially not Phoenix-approved ones. There's a reason we stopped letting agents create their own covers. They tend to be too flamboyant to sell." I was right. This is totally revenge for the Nick Stokes thing. He had a feeling that was going to come back to bite him in the ass. But it was fun while it lasted.

* * *

Riley's been to Azerbaijan before. But the last time she crossed the border, it was at night, in the back of a military truck, dressed as a soldier. This time, she's walking off a 747 in heels and a slinky gold dress, carrying a five hundred dollar purse.

If Mom knew I was here and not at a tile sales convention in Phoenix, Arizona, she'd have a meltdown. Diane's apartment hunting this week, and Riley really hopes she signs a lease soon. There's something wrong with each one, to her. Too small, too big, not close enough to stores, not close enough to her job, the neighbor looks like a pot dealer. Admittedly Riley is right with her on that last one.

She really needs to get Diane out of her place, because coming up with explanations for being gone at all hours is no easier than it was before. At least then I was barely ever home because I claimed I had a job in another city. I just had to explain a lot of missed calls. And Diane seems less and less inclined to accept Riley's explanations. I don't blame her for becoming more suspicious after everything that's happened in her life. But it sure makes mine harder.

She almost literally runs into Mac on the way in. He's wearing a full black suit, and he looks just a little dangerous, perfect to sell his cover. He barely spares her a glance as he tosses the keys to a sleek yellow sports car to a valet and walks inside.

Riley heads straight for the front desk, putting on a show of being demanding and impatient, while she scopes out the room. Bozer has taken the flamboyant piece of his cover to a whole new level, leaning on the bar and throwing money around to buy a whole crowd of girls drinks. Cage is just walking in, she makes a moment of eye contact with Riley as she passes. And Jack is already sitting at one of the tables. He's wearing glasses, the special ones Riley worked up that will allow him to take photos of security. His job right now is to stay out front and monitor guard rotations.

Riley takes her multiple suitcases up to her room, and pulls out her rig. Her job is to clip into the network and hack their security program, Steel Viper. Once she's in, she'll have control of security cams and door locks, and breaking into the vault should be pretty straightforward. It should just be a matter of distracting security long enough to get into the vault, grab the diamonds, and get out. And knowing Jack, he'll come up with quite the distraction. No one wanted to put Mac in charge of that part of the plan; fire seemed a bit over the top.

Bozer joins her around the same time Jack reports in. "Looks like the server room where we need to clip you into the network is being watched by some scary dudes. So we gotta find a way to get someone past them."

"Does anyone go in and out?" Riley asks.

"Maintenance. But they got special keycards that the guards watch them swipe in with. And since you're not in the network, you can't fake opening the door for someone with a mocked up copy." That does present a problem. Riley glances around the room.

"So we have to get a keycard and clone it, then." She needs to have that happen in a controlled environment. Maybe faking an issue with the room? She has to make sure whoever comes is distracted long enough…

There's a faint metallic clanking and she turns to see Bozer holding up a pair of handcuffs. "I think I might have an idea." Oh come on, really? But she has to admit it will probably work...

Less than ten minutes later Riley is opening the door to her suite, her dress exchanged for a short, silky red robe, leaning into the hallway to speak to the man maintenance sent up to answer her call. "This is so embarrassing. My boyfriend and I, we each thought the other one packed the...um...why don't you just come take a look?"

Bozer grins from the bed, blankets pulled to his waist, shirt off, hands locked to the headboard with Riley's normal and spare set of cuffs. "Hey, man, this is super un-cool. Any chance you know how to pick a lock?" He winks at Riley. "I mean, not that I wouldn't happily be trapped all day here with her, but I kinda need to get up for...you know...some kinda important things?"

The maintenance man leans over, Riley's sure this isn't his first time doing this, and while he's looking at the lock, she carefully tugs his clearance badge off his belt and heads for the bathroom.

"I'll be back in a few, okay?" She closes the door and attaches the badge to her RFID reader. In a few minutes, she'll have a clone of the access code.

Bozer is still talking a mile a minute, he's having entirely too much fun selling this cover relationship. "I keep telling her, lockpicking is sexy. I like bad girls, you know, those dangerous criminal types are such a turn-on? But she doesn't seem to want to learn." He laughs. "Oh wow, you are good at that! Honey, you should see how fast he is."

"I'll be out as soon as I can, babe." She has almost eighty percent of the data now. "Just give me a minute."

He must get the idea, because the next thing she hears is a highly dramatic groan. "Ah, ah, leg cramp, just a minute, ah, da-amn that sucker hurts." Bozer is making distressed panting noises, and Riley internally begs her scanner to go faster, this really is embarrassing. "Ah, there it goes."

She pulls the card off the scanner as the light blinks green, quickly clips it back to the maintenance man's belt, and steps back just as he finishes with the cuffs.

"Wow, that was fast. Thanks," Bozer says, rubbing his wrists and then pulling Riley down onto the bed. She yelps. "What do you say we grab a robe tie instead, huh sweetie?" His face is uncomfortably close to her neck. "I was a boy scout for six years, I know knots."

She giggles and stands up, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she mouths to the maintenance man, who's trying to get to the door without calling attention to himself. "He's incorrigible." She smiles and shoves a fifty in his shirt pocket. It's the least I can do. Stealing his access code is probably gonna get him fired once we actually make the heist.

As soon as the door is shut, she flings Bozer's discarded clothes at him. "Put some pants on, we have work to do."

* * *

The two door guards barely give Mac a glance when he comes through, carrying a tool bag and wearing a worker's coveralls and cap. It's only a couple minutes' work to attach Riley's gadgets to the servers and get her into the security network.

"Alright, Riley, you're in the network." He picks up his tools. "I'm done here and I'll see you back at the room in a few."

Jack's voice crackles over comms. "Whoa, whoa, Mac, not yet dude. We gotta new player to the game. Some hottie with a beefed up security detail is outside the doors chatting with the guards."

"Okay, I'll just wait for her to leave." Mac leans against the wall, feeling sweat dampening his hair and running down his back. The server room is unpleasantly warm. I guess I'll take this over Siberia.

"Hold on, looks like she's about to go inside, and if someone finds what you've been up to it ain't gonna go well." Mac feels a sudden cold fear run down his spine. Maybe I could get out before they realized what I was doing, but I can't count on it. And he really, really doesn't want to get caught and thrown in some jail over here. When Jack speaks up again, the sound is incredibly reassuring. "Mac, I'm gonna make you a distraction, okay?" A few seconds later there's a lot of angry yelling, apparently Jack punched a guy across the table from him and accused him of counting cards. Mac can hear someone else shouting at him to calm down.

"Okay, Mac, go," Sam says. "Jack's got them really well tied up, there's only one guy at your door now." Mac pushes the door open and steps out into the hall. He can vaguely hear the shouting from the poker table. He just nods to the door guard and walks away.

He's changed back into his cover's clothes by the time Jack arrives, a little disheveled but grinning. "Turns out, the dude was actually cheating, he was using his watch face to read the cards. I actually ended up getting thanked, which is a first for me. Usually casino brawls end with the bouncers kicking me to the curb."

"And Mac got me clipped into the network, so their Steel Viper system is about to become our Steel Viper system."

"Nice work, kiddo," Jack says, giving Mac a fist bump as he walks past him. "As a wise man once said, "all right, all right, all right," he chuckles, popping open a bottle of champagne and wincing as the cork nearly hits Bozer.

Mac rolls his eyes. "That was a movie, Jack."

"Doesn't mean it wasn't wise." Jack flops back on the couch.

"So all you have to do is get past their firewall?" Bozer asks.

"I think you're forgetting about the part where we still have to sneak past security and crack into a state-of-the-art vault," Sam says, sipping her own champagne glass.

Riley glances up from the computer for a second. "Yeah, I kind of feel like you're about to jinx this whole thing, Boze. You know, the first rule of spy school is never assume an op is easy."

Mac's seen enough field missions go sideways to instinctively know that. Honestly, he knew it before he was even a Phoenix agent. There's no such thing as easy. If it's easy, you missed something important. And very often, that 'something important' is incredibly dangerous.

Riley's computer chirps, and the second she looks up, Mac knows this is bad. "Guys, we got a problem. I don't know what security system this is, but it's not Steel Viper. Everything's been upgraded. Thermal imaging, biometric scanners, and worst of all, the vault's been upgraded, too."

"Our whole plan just went bust." Sam sets her drink down so hard some of it sloshes over the sides.

"Okay, so what do we do now?" Bozer asks. "Do we abort?"

Mac shakes his head. They have a terrorist group bent on some unknown and dangerous plan, and they're the only thing standing between Red Fist and whatever it is they're going to unleash on the world. "No. We improvise."

* * *

There is nothing Riley likes about this situation. She's got Matty on video chat, and explaining this makes her feel even worse than just reading the specs on the schematics did. It feels way more real and intimidating when I have to say it out loud.

"All six walls are titanium. The tumblers, the dial, the locking bolts, also titanium. Two sets of re-lockers, cable-triggered and thermal, both titanium, and as if that wasn't enough, the whole thing is encased in…"

Matty sighs. "Let me guess, more titanium."

"No. It's M-rated ballistic plate armor. Way stronger than titanium."

Jack winces. "So this vault could withstand a direct hit from a tank."

"Actually, it could withstand a nuclear blast," Mac mumbles. Cage gives him an approving look. Jack shrugs.

"Now the good news, right?" Bozer asks.

"If by good news, you mean more bad news, then yeah, coming right up. The casino's entire network has also been upgraded. I can access the cameras, but I can't hack into anything else without setting off alarms. Oh, and the clone key card doesn't work in the basement where the vault is, so, now, we need a nine-digit access code. Which changes every 30 seconds, by the way. And a way to get past the iris scanner."

"So it sounds like breaking into this vault is gonna be impossible." Jack starts pacing, and Riley can hear him humming "Mission Impossible" theme music under his breath. Not helping, Jack.

Matty puts her hands on her hips, it's just as intimidating long-distance as it is in person. "Well, we're just gonna have to do the impossible because we just intercepted intel that those diamonds are gonna be used to purchase a WMD."

"It looks like all these upgrades were just added in the past two weeks, after the casino hired a new head of security," Riley says. "Who is the only person who has the codes to the vault. And the iris that the scanner will accept."

"Cool, get me a name and I'll just drag that asshat down the basement and borrow his eye," Jack says. "I saw that in a movie once, they just ripped the guy's eyeball out…"

Bozer shivers.

"No one is ripping any eyes out today," Sam says. "As good as it would probably feel, we want to avoid an international incident if possible."

"I was kidding! Does no one get a joke anymore?"

"Actually, it looks like you ID'ed her, Jack," Riley says. "Your glasses snapped an image of the woman talking to security at the server room, and I automatically have them set to run image captures through Phoenix facial rec. I've already found three fugitives, a known money launderer, and two suspected assassins. And our new security chief." She pulls up the dossier.

"Oooh, Vera Kazakova, former GRU officer and expert interrogator." Sam leans in to study the file. "Never personally crossed paths with her, but I've heard stories. She went into private security after more than a decade as a Russian spy. I heard rumors Scorpion tried to recruit her after I went dark."

"Looks like she chose a slightly safer and more lucrative profession," Jack says. "So if we can't just grab her and steal her codes and her eye, how are we gonna do this?"

"She gets the access code through a 2FA app on her encrypted phone," Riley says. "But I think I can rig up something to piggyback her signal so I can get it. Jack, hand me your phone."

"Not you too," Jack moans. "You're gonna tear it apart just like Mac does, aren't you?"

"At least I ask." Riley grins at Mac, who only shrugs. "I can put it back together later."

"You better, or you're paying for a new one."

"You do know Phoenix replaces them free? "

"Not for me anymore! They're charging service fees now." Jack shakes his head. "Mac broke too many in a year."

"So that takes care of the codes, but how do we get past the iris scanner?" Cage asks.

"Just get me a high-res, close-up photo of Vera's iris and I could probably get us past the scanner." Riley's pretty sure between her and Bozer, they'll be able to mock passable fakes.

"Well, lucky for us, we've got a Jack Dalton," Jack adjusts his tie. "And I already have an in, I totally stopped some guy from ripping off her casino, so she kinda owes me."

"We're betting this whole operation on Jack's ability to flirt?" Matty's incredulous voice matches Riley's own concerns. Jack, she probably never wants to see you again.

Cage speaks up. "Getting close might be a problem. We want to get to her, we're going to have to peel off her props." When literally everyone looks at her with confused stares, she shrugs. "Seriously? None of you know rugby positions?" She shrugs. "The guys who stick with her. The bodyguards. So, any ideas?" Riley can tell, from Sam's smirk, that she's waiting to be asked.

"No, but I'm sure you'll think of something," Mac says. He's getting the feel for how Cage works as well. It's still a little odd actually having her on field ops. Riley's used to seeing Sam on the screen with Matty. But she does round out our little team. She vividly recalls Sam getting a little tipsy one night and insisting she could assign everyone on the team a family role. Jack was clearly the dad, Matty was mom, Patty, after slight deliberation, got labeled cool aunt, Mac and Bozer were brothers, Riley was the rebellious big sister, and Sam ended up calling herself the 'girl next door'. I wonder if she feels more like another sister now that she's out here with us. Riley knows Cage didn't feel as much like a part of the team, even though they included her in most of the get-togethers. She didn't get to share the inside jokes from missions, and she was never actually there for the things we talked about. It must have been sort of lonely being the outsider.

"Oh, I already have." Sam winks. "Let's go steal ourselves an eye."

* * *

Sam leans next to Mac along the bar, watching the crowd. Most of the people who walk in here never realize how carefully they're being watched. People don't normally scan rooms for cameras and guards. Sometimes it's easy to forget that the world can ever feel like a safe place. She and Mac know better than most what it is to never be able to really let down your guard. Even Jack and Riley can relax, I see them eating and talking together. Sure, they avoid window tables in restaurants and take alternate routes to familiar places, but they don't obsessively check their own apartments for bugs or delete every iota of personal information from existence before anyone gets a chance to see it. They don't look at a cup of coffee someone brought them at work and wonder if something's been put in it. They can leave the job behind, even if just for a little while, and be something approaching normal.

She and Mac will never have that luxury. For her, it's the looming fear that failure will mean elimination, from her own agency. What Scorpion instilled in me will never really be gone, that control, that fear. For Mac, it's the thought that anyone could see him as something for the taking, as nothing more than a way to satisfy themselves. He and I are the ones who don't have even a chance at normalcy. She made her peace a long time ago with that inability to trust, she lives around it and has accepted that it means she won't get the kind of life most people want. That her friendships are always going to carry the slight bitter taint of fear, of expected betrayal. Mac is going to spend the rest of his life wondering who plans to take advantage of him. The same kind of inability to trust, just for different reasons.

She takes a sip of her drink; this feels eerily familiar. The risque dress, the gamble that she's reading the mark right, the drinks before the job, this is Deborah's area of expertise. She's never not going to be a part of me. She might as well accept that burying Scorpion didn't bury her past life with it. I don't get to erase it and pretend it never existed. I only get to move forward.

"So, what's your plan?" Mac asks. "This isn't the ideal time to con someone, everyone in here's still on edge from what Jack pulled this morning."

"Oh, I'm counting on them being suspicious." She grins.

She buys a handful of chips and wanders along the tables, apparently looking for a game she likes, but in reality sizing up the situation. The taller of the two guards seems like the mark she wants. He's younger, and a little less stiff than his partner, which is saying something. I've seen more expression on the faces of Buckingham palace guards.

She sidles up to the man, making sure her left leg is clearly visible through the slit in her dress. Her Azerbaijani is a bit rusty, but the sultry purr in her voice should cover any fumbles in pronunciation. She slips a chip into the man's pocket and saunters away. She smiles as she hears Vera walk over, demand to see what's in her guard's pocket, and order the second man to take him to the basement. Okay, Jack, it's your turn now.

* * *

Jack clears his throat and switches his comms live. "Okay, Riley, gonna do a dry run before I go out there, alright?"

"You're going to test your pickup lines on me? Again?" It's a pre 'Jack-has-to-flirt-with-the-mark' ritual at this point. He's liable to let his mouth run away with him if he doesn't get some of the goofiness gone first.

"Okay, how about this one?" He clears his throat again. "There's no way I'd ever be able to calculate how important you've become to me."

"Yikes, no."

"Ok, I have more. 'It's accrual world out there but I'm willing to invest in you'. Or maybe 'How about we get out of here and appreciate each other's assets'? Too risque?"

Riley is actually laughing now. That's the point, taking a little of the stress out of these high-stakes missions . "I'm beginning to wonder how my mom ever dated you, if these are your pickup lines."

"Oh no, these are accountant pickup lines. Your mom dated Jack Dalton the tile salesman. Tile pickup lines are totally different. You know, knowing the exact Pantone shade of their eyes and stuff like that." He has a good one about grout too, but that's not exactly one he wants to share.

"Oh my god, stop now before I throw up." Riley makes a fake gagging sound.

"Don't worry, I'm not actually going to hit on her with those." Jack shakes his head. "She's not the kind to go for cheesy."

"I'm glad you've realized that."

"I'm gonna bait her with the fact that I found a man she didn't know was cheating, and a woman like her can't stand to be one-upped. She won't be able to resist the challenge." He adjusts his tie again.

"You're serious going to go head to head with a former Russian spy? What if she gets suspicious about how an accountant knows so much?"

"We're here to gamble, right?" Jack chuckles. "Oh, wait, what about a casio pickup line? 'I hit the jackpot when I saw you'."

"Just go." He can hear Bozer laughing hysterically in the background.

Jack steps out into the bustle of the main floor. He can see Vera, her bodyguards now gone courtesy of Cage's plan, standing near one of the roulette wheels. He grabs a drink and steps up close. He has to get near her phone, and get a direct front image of her eyes. Piece of cake.

"You look like a woman who knows what she wants," Jack says, watching her study a game of dice going on nearby.

"Yes, but I haven't seen anything I want, yet." Her eyes narrow. "Aren't you the man who started a fight at my poker game a few hours ago?"

"And saved your casino from a hustler," Jack grins.

"Mr...Bun, was it?"

"Bung. Ernie Bung."

Riley's voice comes through the comms. "Alright, almost there, Jack. But I need a clean shot of the entire iris for this to work, so she has to be looking right at you."

Jack leans on the table and glances at Vera. "I was thinking, you know, I saved your casino a few grand, least you could do is get dinner with me."

"Play whatever game you want in my casino, but never gamble more than you can afford to lose." She turns to stare him down, and he hears the tiny shutter in the glasses camera click.

"Got it." Riley says. "But we still need her phone."

"There is a Michelin rated steakhouse in here, you know. I was kind of in the mood for something fancy. Luck's been smiling on me today," Jack chuckles. "Especially running into you again."

Riley's getting more agitated. "That cell site simulator I made only works at short distances. You're going to have to get your hand within...six inches of her phone."

Well, I don't think she's just gonna let me put an arm around her waist! Jack is running out of ideas. He's clearly getting frozen out and any sensible man would turn tail and run, but Jack doesn't have that option. How am I gonna…

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out one of his cover's business cards. "Well, if you change your mind, my phone number's right here." He tucks it in between Vera's folded arms and holds his hand there a moment.

"Cloning her phone. Getting the algorithm for the codes. Okay, Jack, I got what I need, now get out of there before you piss her off any more."

"Okay, okay, I see how it is. You're busy, you don't know me, I get it. But if you change your mind," he winks, "just give me a ring."

Vera's glare feels almost as deadly as Matty's.

* * *

SUBLEVEL 3

SAM'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE

"How do those contacts feel?" Bozer asks.

"Considerably more comfortable than some disguises I've worn." Sam glances out the stairwell door. She volunteered for this one, if anyone gets caught by the Russian who spent a decade destroying people's lies and getting the truth out of them, it's Cage. Mac insisted he was going to be the one who should do it. But she's not letting him risk it.

Riley's the next to speak up. "Okay, I'm looping the camera feeds now, security will never know you're there." There are still two guards to be accounted for, but that won't be a problem. Cage steps out of the stairwell, pretending to reel drunkenly.

"I'm looking for the bathroom. Can anyone tell me where the bathroom is?" She complains loudly, stumbling on her heels and swinging her handbag wildly.

"Miss, you can't be here. This is a restricted level." One of the guards comes toward her, clearly intending to take her back upstairs. She grabs him, flips him over her shoulder, and pulls the stun gun off his belt, knocking out his partner before the man can even react. She tosses a stray lock of hair out of her face and steps over the second guard's legs.

"Okay, once you're through the door, I'll walk you through cracking the vault," Mac says. "Riley, how are we coming on those codes?"

"I've just got the new one. Sam, you have thirty seconds to input it." Sam glances at the message on her phone and quickly types the nine-digit access key, then leans down and puts her eye up to the scanner. The door beeps and clicks open with a soft whoosh.

"Guys, I'm in." Sam starts toward the vault, reaching into her handbag for the things Mac shoved in there. How a bottle of complimentary shampoo, a couple of coffee packets, and some...what even is all this stuff?...is going to help me, I don't know. But I'm sure he does.

Suddenly, there's a screeching blare of alarms, and the lights in the room go brilliant red. Sam freezes. We missed something vital about this security system. Pressure plates? Heat sensors?

"Cage, get out of there, now." Jack's voice is strained. But there are already guards running up, there's no time to bolt. She's well and truly trapped.

They may have her, but they won't get the rest of the team. She pulls out her comm unit and swallows it in the seconds before the guards grab her and drag her away.

They haul her down a flight of stairs to the level she knows, from seeing Riley's hacked schematics, is the one without cameras. She's cuffed to a chair and her purse is taken away. I guess it's a good thing Mac uses ordinary objects and not specialized gear.

Sam knows exactly how this is going to go down. Escorted into a room where there clearly aren't any cameras, left alone for over half an hour... This is exactly how she would handle an interrogation.

Which means in the next few minutes, she's going to come in here, try to intimidate me, and see if she can break my cover. She already knows the contact lenses are going to be a giveaway. She has all my IDs and my eye color is listed as green on all of them .

Suddenly, the door slams open, and Vera, flanked by two new security guards, walks in. Oh cute. I bet the show of force works on most normal troublemakers. Sam's had plenty of experience with Russian operatives. Classic intimidation tactic.

"Finally, I've been waiting for hours, " Sam complains. "I need a bathroom, can you please just take me to one?" Vera sniffs angrily. "Can you take these cuffs off? Do you know who my father is?" Sam rattles the cuffs against the wooden chair. I could get out of these easily, if I wanted to. But if Vera is focused on her, she's not out there hunting down the rest of the team. I can stall her for a while. Hopefully long enough for the rest of them to regroup and pull off the heist.

"This level is soundproofed, and there are no cameras. So here, it doesn't really matter who your daddy is." Vera dumps the extremely random contents of Sam's purse on the table in front of her. "I want to know what you were doing with all this." I don't even know what I was doing with all of it.

Sam tosses her hair, playing up the part of the spoiled, entitled rich girl. "What, are you upset that I was taking the shampoo with me? You should be grateful, I didn't steal any towels." She leans back in the chair. "I have never been treated so rudely in my life."

"Tell me what you were doing."

"Do you even know who my father is? When he finds out what you've done to me, I promise, you will lose a lot more than a few towels." She kicks her shoe against the chair. "Besides, I thought guests were allowed to take the soap. I cannot believe the service in this place. I will not be coming back."

"I don't care that you stole the soap. What were you doing in the basement of my casino?"

"I was looking for the bathroom . The signs were so misleading." Sam glances at the ceiling. "I must have taken a wrong turn and accidentally wandered into the basement of your casino." She glares at Vera.

"The restricted area where we found you, Miss Moretti, has multiple layers of sophisticated security. It's an exceedingly difficult place to just wander into. And as for what you did to my guards…"

"Just let me call my father. He can explain all of this."

"You are lying to me. And you know how I know? The truth…" Vera reaches down, grabs a handful of Sam's hair, and pulls her head back, "is in your eyes." She extends a finger and swipes one of the contact lenses loose, setting it on the table. "The iris scanner is linked to my phone's GPS. When my phone and my eye weren't in the same place, the system knew you weren't me. No one gets past my security alone. So, after you tell me who you really are, you're gonna tell me who you're working with." Sam shakes her head defiantly. You're playing with the wrong woman, Miss Kazakova.

* * *

Bozer feels just a little shell-shocked. That didn't just happen, did it? Did Sam really just get caught? He knows things like this happen, but it's still scary. Riley's calling Matty again.

"I can't find her. She destroyed her comms and I guess she's in the level with no cameras," Riley says.

"We've got to get her out," Mac whispers. "That should have been me, I knew I should have gone." He looks absolutely distraught, and his fingers are fumbling for the paperclips he clearly didn't remember to put in the pockets of his new suit. Bozer starts looking around the room, there has to be something Mac can fiddle with to calm him down. Maybe we should let him break the TV remote.

"Come on now, have a little faith in our girl," Jack says, but his laugh is forced too. "She's gone a few rounds with Sir Creeps-a-lot himself, she's probably got that Russian chick singing like a bird down there."

"At the very least, she can hold her own," Matty says. "We'll worry about Cage later. Getting those diamonds before the Red Fist can exchange them for a WMD is our priority."

"It's not that I don't agree with you, Matty, but now that Kazakova knows something's wrong, she's beefed up security," Riley says.

"What was once impossible is now impossibl-er," Bozer adds. He feels like he needs to say something. Everyone else is talking and I feel like I'm not contributing. He wonders if it's a side effect of too much emphasis on participation points in his film school classes.

"That's not a word, Bozer," Mac corrects weakly.

Jack shakes his head. "But he's right. Going through that door is no longer an option."

Riley clicks through a series of blueprints on her rig. "Well, if the front door is out, why don't we try the back door? The nine-digit code isn't the only thing I pulled off Vera's phone. These are blueprints for all her recent security updates."

Bozer leans in for a closer look. "Does that look like a secret passageway to anyone else?"

Jack nods. "More like a VIP passageway. All big hotel casinos have 'em so the big ballers can bounce in and out of the penthouse when things get messy. And things do get messy in a penthouse, let me tell you." He sounds like he's winding up for one of his recollections of a past mission. From the sounds of it an embarrassing one.

Boze cringes. "Jack has a story about one of these I do not want to hear." Riley gives him an affirming nod, her face scrunched up in disgust.

Mac leans down, tracing the blueprints with a finger. "That passageway bypasses security, and it runs alongside the vault. It looks like our luck is changing."

Riley types for a few seconds, then looks up triumphantly. "The hotel's booking system says the penthouse is empty."

"Then let's go," Jack says. "Mac, you and I'll head up there. Riley, Bozer, you guys stay put, and if Cage comes back, put her to work and tell her she needs to stop getting out of the heavy lifting by getting herself caught, okay?"

"Will do."

Bozer leans on the edge of the table as Riley switches to comms, listening to Mac and Jack heading upstairs to the penthouse. "Do you really think Sam is going to be okay?"

"This isn't the first time she's been on a mission gone wrong," Riley says. "This is what she's trained for."

"Do you guys just always expect the worst to happen?" Boze sighs. "Is this some sort of fatalistic spy mindset, where you just assume you're not coming home?"

"Okay, honestly? I am worried about her. This Kazakova woman is no joke," Riley says. "And if she wants to kill her, Sam will be dead and there's nothing we can do about it. But I don't think she's going to want to get rid of her before she finds out what Cage was doing here, and if she was working with anyone else. So as long as Sam keeps her mouth shut, she stays alive. And I can't think of anyone who's better at beating interrogations."

"I know. But what if it wasn't her down there?" Bozer asks. "I just...I've been thinking. About spy school, and field work. And I don't know if I could look someone like Kazakova in the eyes and not break. I don't know if this is where I belong."

Riley nods. "I didn't know if I could take it either. I'm not going to lie to you, interrogation resistance training is...well, it's intense." She shakes her head. "It'll dig up your darkest demons, take you back to the places you don't want to go. But you can beat it."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because you faced down the threat of being sent to a black site for the rest of your life, from Patty, who I'm afraid of, and you never flinched." Riley glances at him. "When it really counts, you've got more courage than you think." She glances at her computer. "Mac and Jack are on the penthouse level." She clicks on her comms. "Okay, guys, housekeeping finished the penthouse two hours ago. You should have the place to yourselves."

"Cool. This should be easy," Jack says. Bozer's about to ask him if he forgot the first rule of spy school when he hears voices. Way too many voices. And then an overly cheerful Jack singing out, "Oh, hello fellas! So this is where the party's at." Looks like there's a very good reason that's a rule.

* * *

THE PENTHOUSE SUITE

NOT AS EMPTY AS ADVERTISED

Mac's not sure what to do now. Clearly, his and Jack's entrance threw a massive wrench into this little gathering. Everyone is staring at them. We really messed up this time. He doesn't know how they're going to talk their way out of this one.

"Well, now we know why the penthouse wasn't booked," Riley sounds oddly calm. "They're using it for an off the books VIP poker game."

Do we run, and hope for the best, or bluff it out? Against clearly very good poker players? Mac knows he's no good at bluffing. He's played a few games with Jack on boring flights, for M&Ms or goldfish crackers, and he loses miserably every time. I have too many tells.

But Jack, on the other hand, is impressively good. And it looks like he's decided to bet their success on it.

"They told me the game was going on up here, but damn this place is huge, I got lost for a while," he chuckles. "Anything bigger than the back room of the local bar is a little confusing, ya know? Gunner Snyder, beef jerky king of Oklahoma," Jack says, grinning. "Come on, at least one of you guys has gotta recognize the name. How about you, big man? You look like a meat eater." Mac glances around the table. Jack isn't getting too many friendly looks. Actually, he's not the one most of these people are even looking at.

The bald man sitting at the far end of the table turns away from the girl in a low-cut, thigh length dress sitting half in his lap. "Lucky you brought your own. They're not coming cheap around here." He shrugs.

Mac flinches. He knows it's not uncommon for these kind of high-stakes poker games to attract not only high rollers but prostitutes and porn stars. People like this enjoy letting off steam in more ways than just throwing money around. There are several people around the periphery, men and women, that Mac is pretty sure aren't here for the game, it looks like all but two players have brought a 'guest' or picked one up during the game. He shivers, but tries not to show it. He knows the mission is the most important thing; Matty already said Cage isn't a priority, and her life might be at risk. If this is the only way we get to stay in this room...

"Hey, watch your mouth. That's my son you're talking about." Jack's voice is deadly, Mac can hear some of the real Delta Force sniper slipping through. "You say another thing like that about Randall, and I'm gonna bust your nose."

He feels like he can't move, frozen in place like he's right back in that Siberian cave. Jack just called me his son? He knows that they've been skating around the edges of that idea for a long time. Jack's done everything short of coming right out and saying it. And now he just did. I know it's for a cover, but still.

"Hey Randy, I don't think we're welcome here. Let's take our money and go elsewhere." Jack makes a show of stuffing a wad of bills back into his pocket.

"At least stay for a drink," the dealer attempt to conciliate. Clearly he doesn't want to lose someone willing to throw this much cash around.

"I don't know," Jack mutters. "Anyone who acts like my son…"

"Dad, it's fine," Mac cuts in, and it sounds so strange but so right to call him that . "I don't need you defending me right and left, I'm not twelve." He edges toward the bar. "I'll get you a drink, why don't you sit down and play a few hands?"

"Thanks, son." Jack's hand lingers on Mac's shoulder a little longer than necessary, warm and reassuring. And then he sits down at the table and immediately launches into what sounds distressingly like a company sales pitch.

Mac walks over to the bar. "Can I get a dry martini, stirred, not shaken?" He leans on the bar and pulls out his phone when it starts to buzz.

"This is Randy. Oh, hey babe," He says as he hears Riley's voice on the other end. "I'm still with Dad."

"What are you doing up there?" Riley asks.

"Oh, he just decided to play a few hands before dinner. You know how he is, when the mood strikes he just has to jump right in."

"That's all fine, but he changed his cover, and yours! Dudes like Gunner and Randy Snyder don't even exist yet!" Riley sounds vaguely panicky. "Phoenix is backfilling covers as fast as they can but if anyone starts digging you two are screwed."

"Then I guess we'll just need to make this quick." He laughs. "Yeah, I'll see you in a few, babe." He can't quite bring himself to come up with any other endearments. I feel like I need to wash my mouth out with soap already. It's like flirting with my sister.

"Have you found the door yet?"

"This isn't exactly the kind of place you can just pull on things till you find it." Mac lowers his voice, but the bartender isn't paying any attention. He probably thinks I'm telling her something he's way better off not hearing about.

"It should be near the middle of the west wall. The door is pressure release, held shut by a magnetic latch." Mac glances around the room. A second bartender grabs a bottle opener off the fridge and pops the cap off a beer, and when he sets the bottle opener down on the counter, Mac notices the magnetic strip that holds it to the minifridge.

"Yeah, actually, it does. Be down in a few." He hangs up, and when the bartenders' backs are turned, slips the magnetic opener off the counter into his hand.

To find a magnet, I need a compass. He glances around for something to make into a needle. There's a spring-loaded martini shaker discarded on the counter, and Mac carefully snips a bit of the spring off with his knife and straightens it, rubbing it over the magnet until he's fairly sure it took a charge.

He stabs the needle through a piece of orange rind, and when the bartender hands the drink to him, he drops the rind on top and then moves slowly back toward the wall where Riley said the door was located.

He walks along the bookshelf, pretending to be interested in the volumes, until the needle begins to swivel wildly. He can see a book on the shelf that looks slightly too perfect, and when he tugs on it he hears a soft clunk. I found the door, but now I have to get through it without being seen. There are two guards in the room, and one of them is standing disturbingly close.

And then the door swings open and the last person Mac wanted to see walks in. Vera Kazakova sweeps into the room and glances at the table. Mac sees her zero in on Jack. Somehow, his cover's blown. He's not sure if Cage somehow cracked or if Jack's odd behavior earlier made him stand out too much. Probably the latter.

"I trust everyone is enjoying the game?"

The dealer frowns. "Is there a problem, Miss Kazakova?"

"Oh, no, not at all. I just like to sneak up and play a few hands when things are quiet on the floor. Or when something more exciting is happening up here." She pulls out the chair across from Jack and sits down. "I thought you were going to dinner?"

"Well, I'm a man of many appetites," Jack says. Mac can hear that he's starting to get a little worried.

"I can see that. Mr….I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name?"

"Ernie. But my friends call me Gunner."

"Would one of those friends happen to be a blonde who seems a bit dissatisfied with her current eye color?" Mac sees the woman pull out something from her purse. "Because you really should keep a closer eye on them. And I don't think she's your only friend, is she? I think one of them is in the room with us now." Her eyes move from Jack's face to Mac's, and that's when Jack makes his move.

Mac jumps as Jack leaps to his feet, flipping the whole poker table as he does. Mac knows Jack would want him to run. So he does. He pulls hard on the book that unlatches the door and ducks through before anyone notices, in the chaos, what he's doing.

He rushes down the stairs, hoping he doesn't slip and fall. "Riley, I'm in the passageway, but they have Jack."

"He'll be okay. He's Jack." Riley doesn't sound too certain of herself, though. "Just get to the vault."

Mac leaps off the final two steps and hurries down the corridor. "Once I get there, I'll probably need thirty minutes until-"

He skids to a halt, ducking back behind a support beam. "Mac, what's going on? Can you get to the vault?" He glances around the edge of the beam. There are four men inside the vault, and they're pulling out trays of something that they're dumping into a suitcase. The light catches on the contents, glittering.

"Yeah, I can. But I don't actually need to. The Red Fist is already here, and they have the diamonds."

Mac ducks back a little further behind the beam, willing his panting breaths to slow down. Please don't let them find me. When he hears footsteps, he cringes, but they're steadily moving away from him, and when they fade away, he slumps forward with a sigh. Now what do we do?

* * *

"Hey, guys, are you sure you wanna do this?" Jack asks as the two beefy guards drag him down the stairs. "You know, if you guys were to just, you know, make yourselves scarce for a couple minutes, I could set you both up with a lifetime supply of Gunner's best jerky. Hey? Are you more of a mesquite or habanero guy? Or maybe salted molasses bourbon?"

"Stop talking," One of the men growls.

"Oh well, your loss," Jack says, and then they open a heavy door and shove him into a dark, chilly room.

He blinks when he sees Cage cuffed to the chair near the far wall. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this?"

"I was looking for the bathroom. The signage in this place is a tragedy. And apparently we're not allowed to leave with the shampoo." She sniffs. "Why I would want to steal it is beyond me. It's cheap. My hair feels like someone coated it in wax."

"I think you look just fine, sweetheart." Jack grunts as one of the goons shoves him down into a chair of his own and cuffs his hands behind him.

"What did you do, walk out with a coffee mug?" Cage asks.

"No, apparently they think I'm your friend, you little klepto."

"I did not steal anything," Cage insists. The two guards, who have clearly been dealing with her spoiled little rich girl act for a while, make themselves scarce. She's probably been demanding as hell. Which makes sure they don't want to be in the room and gives us some space to chat. Nice work.

"You weren't supposed to get yourself caught."

"Hey, someone has to save your ass."

"The sentiment is appreciated, but I am more than capable of saving my own ass, and I'm not sure how much I trust you in that regard, since it looks like that frostbite is still giving you some issues." Sam tilts her head. "I was trying to buy you some time to break in."

"Mac's working on that." Jack shakes his head. "And I was gonna break us both out of here, but after that frostbite comment…"

"Oh, don't worry about me, I've got this handled." Cage smirks.

The door opens again, and Vera enters, holding a tablet. "Now, you will identify your team, or things will get really unpleasant."

"Oh it's already unpleasant," Jack says. That earns him an angry glare.

"Your team."

"Dallas Cowboys all the way, baby." This time there's an actual slap involved.

"Whoa, hey, take it easy there! It's just football, no need to get physical, lady." Jack grins. "Unless you're just warming up for some fun." He jiggles the cuffs. "I mean, I'm not really a fan of an audience, but I'm flexible."

"Shut up!" Vera snaps. "Do any of these pictures look familiar?" She starts flipping through a series of images on her tablet.

"Seventies hair? Nope. He's got better hair game, but I don't have a clue who he is." The next picture is Riley. "Wish I did." Kazakova continues, the next picture is of a man with grey hair and a mustache. "Didn't he write the music for Jaws?" And then there's Mac. "Skinny little blond dude? Never seen him."

Vera stands up sharply. "This man was in the penthouse with the sausage king. Find him."

"Jerky! It's not sausage, it's jerky!" Jack shouts, before the door slams shut.

"Well, you handled that well," Cage smirks. "But jerky, Jack, really?"

"Hey, I was hungry, and I was put on the spot! Actually, I'm still hungry. You ready to get outta here?"

She nods. "These chairs are going to be a piece of cake, but we need to get the guards close enough to take them out."

"I think I have that covered," Jack says. "Okay, give me a little space. Just scoot your chair back some." And then he topples his own to the ground and begins to jerk back and forth, twitching like he's in the middle of a seizure.

"Oh my God, he's dying! Someone help!" Cage screams piercingly. The guards rush in, and when one of them bends over Jack, Cage leaps up, smashes her chair against the wall, and then twists her legs around the unoccupied guard's neck and flings him to the floor. Jack jumps up and slams his chair's leg onto the other guard's foot and then when the man bends over, groaning, headbutts him hard.

"Nice." Cage is bending over her own guy, pulling out his gun and a pair of cuff keys. She frees her own hands and then Jack's. "Headbutt, simple but effective." Jack grins. He likes working with Sam, she's tough and sassy. And just the right amount of scary.

Jack digs through the second guard's gear, grabbing his gun and following Sam to the door. "Okay, let's get outta here."

* * *

Mac steps out of the hidden door into the lobby, glancing around. "Riley, you got eyes on Red Fist?"

"Yeah. They're in the lobby right ahead of you. Once they leave, I'll tag their vehicles and task a satellite to track them."

Mac can see the men now, they're headed for the elevators. "Riley, I don't think they're leaving."

"What, did they forget to pack?" Bozer asks.

"I think whatever deal they're making is going down right here, right now." Mac watches the men climb into an elevator. "Riley, can you track that elevator?"

"Sure thing."

Then there's a sizzling sound and Bozer yelps, "Don't look at me, I didn't touch anything!" Something went wrong.

"Mac, I just lost cameras. It looks like hotel security realized someone was in the network and kicked me out." Yep. this is bad.

Mac rushes to the elevator, grabbing a tall metal pole that was holding a poster. He pries the door open and glances up the shaft, the elevator is still close enough. He hopes. He hooks the end of the pole into the bottom of the car and prays it holds his weight. Don't look down. It's fine, you're going to be fine. Falling to his death in an elevator shaft is pretty high on the list of things he's hoping to avoid in life.

He's hoping they get off somewhere like the tenth floor. But as the elevator continues to climb, his arms ache, and his sweaty palms start to slide on the metal. I really, really don't want to fall. But the elevator continues to climb. Mac can feel his grip sliding. Don't look down. Don't look down. He's getting desperate. Please, please stop soon. He's not sure how much longer he can hold on. His hands and the pole are slick with sweat, and the ache in his shoulders has become a screaming pain.

And then they stop. Mac musters up just enough energy to swing himself over to a girder on the side of the elevator shaft. His slick shoe sole slides on the metal for a moment, and there's a horrible vertigo-inducing second of feeling like he's freefalling, but then he gets his balance, and manages to press the emergency door release. He forces his shaky legs to push him off the wall and into the doorway, and he scrambles out into the hall, panting desperately and deeply grateful there's no one here to see him.

"Ok, Riley, I'm on the forty-ninth floor, so they must be on the fiftieth." Mac takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Okay, you made it up the elevator shaft and didn't die. Now all you have to do is steal a weapon of mass destruction.

* * *

Jack pushes open the door to Riley's room. "Okay, kids, checkout time, right now."

"We can't leave without all our luggage," Riley says, motioning him over. "The Red Fist, the diamonds, and the WMD are on the fiftieth floor." She's pointing to the TV.

"I knew these guys were weird, but broadcasting their purchase of a bomb?" Jack asks, watching the screen.

"There's more than one way to see what's going on in a hotel," Riley says. "I may have lost the security cameras, but I did manage to give myself access to the built in cameras in every hotel TV."

"That's a little creepy," Cage mumbles.

"No, that's creepy, right there," Jack says, as one man opens up the case of diamonds and another sets a different briefcase on the table. "We have to get up there and stop them before they leave with the bomb."

"There's at least seven heavily armed men up there," Riley says. "And I can't come with you, because I have to keep an eye on both the diamonds and the WMD in case either of them leave the building, and since I lost the system I have to stay where I can see the TVs."

"Yeah, that's okay, just do your thing. Cage and I got this one." Jack turns to Sam, and she nods. I watched her take out that many guys alone in the Phoenix siege. We're good.

The take the elevator to the forty-ninth floor in silence, both of them checking the guns they pulled off the guards in the basement. The mags are both full, and while this isn't Jack's first choice for a handgun, he's comfortable with it.

They're going to take the stairs the rest of the way, it's easier to avoid being seen. They're hurrying down the hall to the stairwell when the door to a cleaning closet opens and someone steps out, nearly colliding with them. "Sorry," Jack says automatically, then glances at the person he nearly totaled. "Hey, Mac?"

"Oh man am I glad to see you." Mac grins, he's holding a bottle of something blue in his hand. "I thought I was gonna have to do this myself."

"Never," Jack chuckles. "Okay, let's go."

They take the stairs to the fiftieth floor, and Jack peers around the corner slowly, sizing up what they have to deal with. There are two guards outside a door at the end of the hall. And then Sam pokes her head around and Jack can see nothing but a faceful of hair. He brushes it away and pulls back. "Okay, we gotta take those guys out to get inside."

"I think I can do both," Mac says, holding up the bottle and then rolling it down the hallway.

"Dude, is that tear gas?" Jack laughs. "I never get tired of this one."

"You might want to cover your ears."

"Wait, that's not tear gas, is it?" And then there's a massive explosion. When Jack looks out, the door is halfway off its hinges, and in a few more seconds he and Cage are inside. The room is total confusion, the concussive blast was clearly a shock to everyone. Jack takes out a couple guys before a beefy one pins him against the wall, but he manages to throw the guy off and knock him out with a nearby chair. Cage is a blur of feet and elbows and fists, she looks like she's having fun. Jack stops for a second when he sees Mac run in and grab a tray from a table before bringing it down on another guy's head. Damnit, kid, I didn't want you in here!

Jack's hesitation costs him, because the next second he's on the floor, his jaw pulsing with a sharp pain and one of the Red Fist goons standing over him with a gun. And then there's the crack of a shot and he winces, but the guy standing over him slumps over, blood dripping from his chest. Jack rolls out of the way as the man falls.

Cage is standing in a corner, holding her gun. "You're welcome."

"Guys!" Mac yells, and then there's a crash from the next room. Jack is on his feet in seconds, rushing in. Please, don't be hurt, kid. It sounded like someone got thrown out a window.

Mac is still, thankfully, in one piece, standing over the opened case that was holding the bomb. He's still holding the shards of a lamp he must have used to knock out the guy laying unconscious in front of him, so that was the shattering noise , but he's staring in horror at the bomb case. "I tried to stop him, but Jack...he already triggered it." Mac looks equal parts guilty and terrified. "It's going to go off in fifteen minutes."

* * *

Mac shudders, staring down at the man bleeding into the carpet at his feet. I did what I had to do. Or I tried. The past few seconds feel like they've stretched into forever, watching that man reaching for the bomb's trigger, Mac bringing the lamp down on his head, the beeping as the bomb armed, Jack and Cage rushing in.

And then the world speeds up again and narrows to the countdown on the timer.

"Is that a nuke?" Sam asks.

"Just a baby one," Jack replies. "Probably half a megaton or so." Of course Jack knows.

"Cute. Can we disarm it?"

Mac glances at the housing and components. "Maybe if I had an hour." This thing is full of failsafes.

"How about fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds?" Thirty-six, thirty-five…

"Guys, Vera's putting the building in lockdown, so whatever your plan is, I suggest you avoid the lobby entirely," Riley says. "Do you have a plan?"

"We have to contain it. A blast like that will kill everyone in five city blocks. And leave the area uninhabitable for a few centuries," Jack says.

"So, we can't disarm it, can't take it outside, can't leave it here." Cage says. "So what's the plan?"

Plan. Plan. Have to contain it. The last time this happened, Mac left the bomb that was about to explode inside their van. And we got accused of terrorism in Amsterdam. On the upside, if I can't figure this out, I don't have to worry about going to prison in a foreign country, cause I'll be dead.

"And the whole vault is encased in...M-rated ballistic plate armor...could withstand a nuclear blast."

"Guys, we're going to break into the vault and put this bomb inside." Jack grabs the case and they run for the elevators. They need to get to the penthouse to get to the passageway.

"I thought you said it was going to take half an hour to get in there?" Riley says.

"That was when I had to make sure no one noticed we broke in," Mac says. "Now I can do it the quick and dirty way."

"Oh, there is one?" Jack asks.

"If I can find what I need." Mac really hopes that storage room he noticed when he was down there last time has the right supplies. "At this point I guess we're just gonna have to roll the dice on it."

When they reach the vault level, Mac pulls out his knife to open the door lock, but Jack beats him to it, dropkicking the door down. "I thought you said we were doing this the quick and dirty way, right?"

Mac just shakes his head. The storage room is full of what he really hopes is just spare equipment. If it's broken, this might not work. "Cage, plug in that slot machine, right there. Jack, stand those two roulette wheels on their sides, with the metal tops facing each other, about an inch apart."

"What exactly is this gonna be?" Jack asks.

"Ever heard of Lorentz forces?" Jack shakes his head while Mac continues scrounging for the rest of the things he needs. Wire, he has to find wire. "Well, it's what's gonna get us through that door." He's pulling the wire out of one of the machines, it'll just have to do. "See, the slot machines are feeding current to the roulette wheels, which are acting as a giant capacitor storing the charge…"

"So you're gonna blow a hole in it?" Jack looks confused.

"Not exactly. Easier to show you." He hands Jack a coil of the wire. "Wrap this around the handle, then get back." Jack does, but he's giving Mac a confused frown.

"I thought you said this wasn't gonna blow up?"

"Not exactly. I said not exactly." And then there's a loud bang and Mac looks up to see that the handle is now loose.

"Did you just...shrink the metal?" Cage asks. Mac nods.

"Okay kids, less than a minute," Jack says. Mac grabs the case. "Whoa, whoa, hey I should be the one holding that thing."

"I have to position it to deflect the blast away from the damaged door, I know the physics, okay? I need you to pull the door open, don't touch the metal with your bare hands." Jack pulls off his jacket and grabs the door, groaning and straining.

Mac rushes in and sets the bomb down, pilling anything he can find around it to direct the blast away from the weakened section of the vault. "Guys, go, get out of here now!"

"Not without you!" Jack shouts back.

"I'm right behind you, go!" He leaps out and shoves the door. But the metal is a bit warped and he struggles to push it closed. Come on, seconds left, MacGyver. You have to do this. He shoves harder and the door slams, and he tugs desperately at the latches.

"Mac, get out of there!" Jack yells.

Ten, nine, eight... He's done the best he can. He turns and runs, and then suddenly it feels like the world is flipping upside down, and he thinks he might be flying. Something slams against him, hard. A lot of somethings. At least one of them hit his head. And then he hits the ground with a thud that will definitely leave bruises and hopefully didn't damage his recently healed hand. I don't want to be in a cast again. And then he suddenly realizes how ridiculous he sounds. I just survived a nuclear blast, and I'm whining about possibly having a cast again?

Jack rolls over, somewhat ahead of him, groaning. "Did we live?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Sam struggles to her feet, her elbows and knees are brutally skinned.

"Well, I can check 'experience nuclear bomb' off my bucket list now, at least," Jack chuckles, pushing himself up and wincing. "Dude, that was wicked!" He limps over to Mac and helps him get to his feet, grinning. "Nice job, Mac." He pulls Mac tightly against him for a hug, and suddenly his whole back is just one mass of agony, from his knees up to the back of his head.

"Ahhh, owwww," Mac gasps softly, halfway doubling over in an attempt to escape the pain.

"Whoa, hey, kid, did I break you?" Jack asks. "Oh man, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, just a little bruised." Mac shakes his head. Everything still feels wobbly. I guess that blast was a little stronger than I was expecting. "Let's go before that thing starts leaking any more radiation."

"More?" Jack asks.

"Well, we damaged the housing so a little is gonna seep out...and the explosion...would have made any damage...worse…" Mac blinks, when did the wall turn into the floor? And why is it getting closer?

"Whoa, whoa hey there!" Jack's arms are around him, and suddenly the ground isn't rushing up at him. "Something is not right, kiddo...oh my god."

Jack pulls his hand back, and it's red. Like he dipped it in paint or something. Mac blinks, it looks like Jack has too many fingers. Radiation doesn't make people mutate like that, it just kills them. Right? Jack leans down, and now he has two heads. This is weird.

"Yo, Mac, you in there, buddy? I think you got yourself a pretty nice concussion there." Oh. Concussion. Not randomly mutating. Mac coughs out a weak and fairly painful laugh. "Come on, kiddo, let's go."

* * *

"Whoa, guys, what happened?" Riley asks the second they step into the lobby. Jack figures they're not going to be able to get away with brushing this one off. Their clothes are covered in dust, and the injuries they're sporting are kind of hard to hide.

Bozer's staring at them in undisguised fear. "Are you okay?"

"Considering we were about thirty feet from a nuclear blast and survived, I'd say we're fine." Cage inspects her own war wounds. "Mac shoved the bomb in the vault, and it actually worked."

"Yeah, and now he's got a concussion," Jack says. Mac's been mumbling incoherently about the physics of both nuclear blasts and those electrical force things he was using earlier since they started climbing the stairs. He's really out of it . Jack's never seen the kid get this loopy, at least not from a concussion. I really hope there's no permanent damage. That would devastate a kid as smart as him.

"Well, you may have contained the main explosion, but it still kind of freaked everyone out, so I think we should be going," Riley says.

"Not so fast." Jack flinches at the familiar voice, and stops in his tracks where Vera and a group of her hired muscle cut off their path. Jack is not in the mood to deal with a pissed off Russian spy. But Vera is definitely in the mood to deal with him. "So, you hacked my cameras, attacked my guards, and now you blew up my vault?"

"To stop the whole building and about five city blocks from getting blasted off the face of the earth," Jack says. "So really, you might want to thank us."

"What I want to do is throw you all in a cell and lose the key." Jack feels Mac flinch against him. Don't threaten to send him to jail. Matty's already handled the legal stuff, so they're in the clear, technically, but a concussed and confused Mac thinking he's going to be locked up again is not going to be good. "But I'm not going to do that, because you saved my casino and all the guests."

"Now will you agree to have dinner with me?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow.

"If I ever see you again, it will be too soon. You have ten minutes to leave. Starting…" She glances at her watch. "Now."

"Don't open that vault without getting a hazmat team," Mac mumbles. "Everything in it is going to be radioactive for the next ten thousand years."

"Mac, I love that you know stuff, but stop talking, or the angry Russian lady is probably gonna shoot us," Jack says. "Sorry, he has a concussion. We're going now." He pulls the kid's arm over his shoulder a little more securely, then turns back to look at Vera one last time. "He wasn't kidding about the hazmat team, though. Radiation poisoning makes for really bad Yelp reviews."

"Where are we going?" Mac asks, shaking his head and trying to pull away.

"Home, kiddo. Where we can get that thick skull of yours checked out."

"I don't want to go to prison," Mac mumbles, it's like he didn't hear a thing Jack said. "Please don't let her send me there."

"I'm not gonna let that happen, okay? But you have to come with me now." He carefully puts an arm around Mac's waist, mindful of the bruises that must be scattered all over the kid's back. "No one is sending you back to prison. We're gonna take you home, okay?" Mac nods and leans on Jack's shoulder as they walk away.

Mac, Jack, and Cage all have to go through a quick decontamination before they board the jet and take a round of radiation exposure medications, since they were so close to the bomb. It's not the most fun thing ever, and Jack knows Mac absolutely hates in-field decon. He's shivering when they meet back up, now dressed in the clothes from their go bags.

"Such a shame, I really liked that dress," Cage says, pulling her wet hair into a ponytail.

Mac is quiet, more quiet than usual after a mission, and Jack can't tell if it's because of the concussion or because field decon tends to bring up less than pleasant memories. He decides it's the concussion when, instead of walking up the stairs to the jet, Mac instead sags against him, leaning his head on Jack's shoulder. "Hey, no falling asleep, not yet okay?"

He gets Mac settled as comfortably as he can on the plane, draping a blanket over him. "You can't go to sleep, but you should try and lay still." He has no idea how much damage the blast actually did to Mac's body.

"Jack," Mac whispers. "Would you have done it?"

"Done what?" Jack has no idea what Mac is talking about. Not that I ever really do, but a concussion makes it even worse.

"I thought you were going to let them believe it."

"Kiddo, you are gonna have to explain this a little more, okay?" Jack rests a hand gently on Mac's shoulder.

"At the poker game. They thought I was a hooker, didn't they?" Damn it, of course that's what he fixated on. This whole disaster of a mission, and those idiots are what's gonna give him nightmares.

"Yeah, because they're idiots who only value people for what they can exploit them for." Jack says bitterly.

"I thought maybe you'd have to just let them think they were right, so they'd let us stay." Jack feels sick. He thought I would treat him like that to sell a cover, after everything that just happened with Gomez and the racers? The last time people made assumptions, Mac got kidnapped. I didn't try hard enough to convince them they were wrong. I won't ever make that mistake again. He reminds himself that Mac has a concussion right now; he's definitely not fully aware of what he's saying. "Why did you say I was your son?" Mac asks.

Oh boy. So that's what this is really about. "Because that's the first thing that came to mind, kiddo. It's just how I think of 're always gonna be my kid, and I wasn't gonna let them treat you like you were just someone that could be bought if they had the money for it. That wasn't a cover, that was the real deal. I said that because I meant it."

"I know you wouldn't want to, but what if you had to?" Mac mumbles. "Matty said the mission came first, she wouldn't let us get Sam. It would have been easier for Phoenix to change my cover into a random…"

"Listen. Matty doesn't get to make calls like that for you. Cage is her responsibility, but you are mine . And I meant what I said about you before, you are never, ever on the table."

"But what if it was to save the world?" Mac asks quietly. "You can't put protecting me before thousands of people. If it was the only way to make sure we got that WMD…" Damn self-sacrificing idiot. Not that Jack doesn't admire the selflessness Mac is always clearly displaying, but he wishes it wasn't due to Mac's inherent lack of self-worth. He thinks like this because all his life, he's been taught he doesn't matter. And Jack gets that Matty means well and that she has to focus on the big picture, but Mac isn't like other agents. He's already had to sacrifice so much to survive, and sometimes Jack thinks they're asking too much. He shouldn't think the only thing that gives him worth to us is the ability to get the job done.

"Saving the world doesn't mean a thing to me if you're not part of it," Jack says, leaning down to make sure Mac can look him in the eyes. "I would never, never put you in the position where you were sold out for the mission. For anything. You are more important to me than anything else. The mission, this career, my life. Okay?" He doesn't care how many times he has to repeat that to get it through the kid's thick, concussed skull. Mac has been so convinced that he's worthless, that no one should bother to protect him, that it seems like no matter how many times Jack proves that wrong, Mac is just waiting for the next one, for Jack to finally give up on him. "You are never, ever going to come second to me."

"But…"

"No. No But. No loopholes, nothing. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Not the bad guys, and not the agency either." He sits down next to Mac, pulling the kid against him. "I meant what I said back there. No one gets to talk about my son that way."

"You're not bad, for a dad," Mac whispers, leaning a little closer. Jack gently puts his arm around Mac's shoulder. "But if you ever give me a name like Randall Snyder again, I'm going to kill you."

"Now that I know you don't mean what you're sayin'. Randall Snyder is a great name! I tried to give you a good one, and this is what I get in return? You insult my carefully deliberated name choices? Would you rather have been Joey Concertino? My second choice of cover was Italian mob boss."

"Did you seriously just stick an 'o' on the end of 'concertina' and assume it sounded Italian?" Mac chuckles softly, curling into Jack's shoulder.

"You'd be amazed what people will believe. I mean, Chad Palomino was one of my best covers. But hey, if you've got a problem with my name choices, we could always just go back to Phoenix assigned ones. Would you rather be Larry Bung?"

"Sto-op." Mac rolls his eyes and attempts to punch Jack's shoulder, failing spectacularly.

"See, you're better off letting old Jack pick the names. Unless you want to next time. Just don't give me the name of some stuffy old scientist, you hear? I don't want to be some unpronounceable Werner von Brown or something like that."

"Von Braun , Jack. And actually you'd probably like him, he's the father of modern rockets and space travel."

"Cool. So what exactly did he invent?" Jack sits and listens and runs his hand though the kid's hair, keeping him awake and distracted until they land. I like to pretend I get bored, but there's nothing I'd rather do than listen to him talk about the things he enjoys. Mac is so smart, and Jack may not understand it all, but he's so damn proud of the kid. Even if no one else was, I always will be.

* * *

RILEY'S APARTMENT

IT DOESN'T FEEL LIKE HERS ANYMORE

"Hey Mom, I'm home." Riley tosses her suitcase (she removed any of her more formal clothes, her guns, and all tech at Phoenix) on the couch.

"How was Phoenix?" Diane asks, barely turning around from where she has three different ads for apartments spread out on the table. Riley freezes. How did she...what did I miss...who told... And then her brain kicks in and she remembers. I told her I was in Arizona.

"Fine. Nothing too interesting. Tile sales." She shrugs.

"I've narrowed it down to these three," Diane says. "I was going to call you yesterday, but I thought you were probably going to be busy." Riley nods. "Jack went with you?"

Riley nods. Mom asks about him off and on, but she always sounds like she's forcing herself to be casual about it. Jack's avoiding the subject entirely. She wants them to both get over this and start over, but she knows that takes time. Mom doesn't know the truth about Jack. She thinks he's afraid of a relationship and ditched her to avoid getting serious.

Riley knows what it's like to feel that hurt. I would never, ever trust Nick again. Not if he showed up on his knees begging me to. She's kept tabs on him since the whole Chrysalis investigation; he's still with the CIA, on a long-term op in Singapore now. Riley hopes he stays there. If we ever get paired with his team for an op, I don't know how I'd handle it. So she's not pushing her mom and Jack to reunite any time soon.

"Okay, what are the options?"

Mom spreads out the papers. She still prefers hard copy of everything, no matter how many times Riley has tried to get her to just use digital. How did I become a computer nerd with her for a mom? "This is a beautiful place," she points out the pictures of a sleek, modern-looking space with a large open floor plan, "but it's a twenty-minute drive more than any of the rest. It does come fully furnished." Riley nods. "And then there's this industrial loft. I could literally walk to work from here, but it does need some repairs, and...well...a woman's touch. The last tenant was a personal fitness trainer, and he had no sense of style."

"I like the brick walls," Riley says. I could totally see Mac making some stuff like those gear windchimes and turning this into some kind of industrial-chic place. "It has character."

"And then there's this one," Mom says. Riley almost chokes on her gasp. That's Nick's old apartment. Apparently it hadn't sold yet. Probably the 'death' of the previous tenant and the fact that it was a crime scene for over a month didn't help reviews.

"Ah, I'm not feeling that one." She shrugs. "It doesn't seem homey."

"Oh?" Diane says. "I thought it was really nice."

"It looks too good to be true, Mom. There's probably faulty wiring in it or wall damage that all that furniture is hiding."

"Wow, since when did you become an expert at home appraisal?"

"Since I've seen both in clients' houses." Riley forces a grin. "Jack refuses to work for people who want him to tile over structural problems. He won't let them get away with hiding the damage." There's really nothing wrong with the apartment, besides some stash cubbies Mom will probably never find. But she's not talking about the apartment. She's talking about the former tenant. He seemed perfect. And then…

"Okay, I'll take your word for it." Diane smiles. "I think I should have trusted your judgment a little more in the past." I don't really trust my own anymore. "You always did know the ones to stay away from." Not when it was my own life.

"I like that loft. And I know someone who could help you with some awesome decor for that. I have a few ideas I know he could do. Want to see what I'm thinking?"

"You're the one who works with interior design for a living. I'm ready to be wowed." Diane smiles and Riley pulls out her rig. I guess the only thing either of us can do is move forward.

* * *

MAC'S HOUSE

FAR AWAY FROM BOMBS AND ANGRY RUSSIANS

"No, no, no!" Bozer shouts, pulling Mac away from the grill. "No adjusting anything flammable while you still have a concussion. It doesn't need to cook faster."

Mac holds up his hands in mock surrender, then winces as that movement aggravates the bruises on his back. It's been four days, he only just got out of medical this afternoon, and it still hurts. But it's better than being dead. His memory of the first day is a little hazy, but what he does remember, he needs to apologize to Jack for. I wasn't thinking straight and I probably hurt him. He can remember the pain in Jack's eyes. I should never have made him think I don't trust him.

Mac can't help but feel guilty when Jack walks in, flanked by Matty, Riley, and Cage, with a huge smile on his face. "Hey man, I'd hug you again, but the last time I kinda messed you up, so fist bump?" He's still smiling way too much.

Mac returns the fist bump, but it's half-hearted, and Jack notices immediately. "Mac, quit worrying. We all checked out clean, no permanent problems from the radiation. Cage is probably gonna glow for a while, but hey, maybe it'll come in handy on a mission."

"I heard that," Sam says, walking in and grabbing one of her Australian beers from the fridge.

"It was a compliment!" Jack yells back. "But seriously, Mac, we're all fine. Thanks to you." Mac nods and sits down slowly, trying not to jar his back. Jack joins him, stretching out his legs toward the bonfire.

"I was thinking about what I said on the plane. I'm sorry I acted like I didn't trust you…"

"No need to apologize for that, kiddo. I know trust doesn't come easy for you. And you had a concussion, those'll mess with anyone. Matty says I hit on her after the one I got in Calcutta." He leans over. "Right, Matty?"

"I have audio recording to prove it, Dalton. Would you like me to retrieve it from the mission file?"

"Nah, let's leave these kids in a state of blissful ignorance." Jack turns back to Mac. "See what I mean? No one's going to hold you responsible for anything said after a knock on the noggin." He grins. "Are you also going to apologize for insulting my choice of cover names? Because I think Gunner Snyder is one of my favorites."

"Well, he may not be in a minute. Mr. Beef Jerky King owes Phoenix five hundred thousand dollars, so I think it's best for all concerned that he never reappears," Matty says.

"Hey, I was winning all of that back!" Jack insists. "I was on a hot streak. And if Miss Crazy-kova hadn't shown up when she did, Phoenix would owe me money!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Jack," Riley chuckles.

"Hey, I'll prove I'm the best poker player in this group. Bozer, go find us a bag of M&Ms so I can whoop these guys' butts."

"I think it's your own butt you need to be worried about, Jack," Bozer says, chuckling. "How's the frostbite."

"Oh, I think yours is the first I'm gonna whip!" Jack chuckles, leaning back and smiling widely. "Deal us in, Matty."

Mac chuckles and takes his hand of cards, glancing around the fire at the others. The light reflects off the watch on his wrist, and he can't help but notice the new cracks in the face, the scuffs on the band. It took a beating back there when the bomb went off.

But he's surprised that he doesn't care all that much. True, it's the only thing he has left of his father, but James is a psychotic criminal who is everything Mac has dedicated his life to fighting. This, right here, around the fire, this is his family.

He looks down at the cards in his hand and grins. I don't feel bad enough about hurting Jack's feelings to let him win...


	4. X-Ray and Penny

204-X-Ray+Penny

PARIS

NOT THE PART MOST PEOPLE COME TO SEE

"Okay, explain to me again how a bunch of random numbers on a gear on a watch led us to a cafe in the seedy underbelly of Paris?" Jack asks. He's looking at the menu and frowning. Normally, I'm a huge fan of French cuisine, but I don't know if I trust anything in this place. The ratatouille might actually be made with rats.

"I've tried everything to make sense of those numbers. Tried to turn them into a phone number, or match them to letters of the alphabet to spell a word, or coordinates. And this is where making those numbers into map coordinates puts us."

"Precisely in the middle of this crappy excuse for a restaurant?"

"Not exactly. But it has a good view of the street. That's important, right?" Jack nods. Ever since I told him I'm more than willing to take his dad's place, he's kind of gotten weird about it. He wonders if that's because the only parental figure Mac grew up with taught him he needed to constantly be impressing him by learning everything possible, and proving it on every possible occasion.

Some days Jack feels like this was a one step forward, three steps back development. I managed to get him to accept that I'm the father figure in his life now. But somehow that changed things between us. Ever since they lost James's trail in Patagonia, Mac's been acting...weird. Jack was so proud of the fact that Mac, with all his serious trust issues, seemed to trust Jack. Now, it's like he questions his worth all over again, as if not getting closure with James has caused him to take all those issues and put them on his relationship with Jack. Would all this father-son stuff have been better left unsaid?

"And you think James is going to pick today of all days to show up?"

"Not exactly. But I think this is connected to a clue, somehow." Mac glances out the window again. He's so determined to get James. Jack knows the kid's spent a lot of sleepless nights working on this. When he says he's tried everything with those numbers, he means it. Jack hopes this is all over soon. Not that I mind following him around the world. But it's tearing him apart.

Mac jumps a little when the waitress steps up to take his order. " Cafe au lait, please." Geez, kid, you do not need more caffeine in your bloodstream.He hands the menu back to the woman with a tired smile.

She takes it, but her own face goes absolutely white when she sees his wrist, and she gasps. Her eyes are locked on the face of the watch on Mac's arm. " Cette montre ." When Mac shakes his head, Jack translates.

"This watch. Mac, she recognizes it."

" S'il vous plaît, attendez ." She rushes to the back of the cafe and returns with a small envelope. " On m'a dit de donner ceci à l'homme avec cette montre ." She holds it out to Mac.

"Someone told her to give this to the person wearing that watch," Jack says.

"Can you tell me anything about who left this?" Mac asks. Jack translates that back, but the woman shakes her head, and he sees a glint of fear in her eyes. She hurries off and leaves them alone.

Mac waits until a different waitress comes with his drink, then carefully steams the envelope open over the cup. He peels back the flap and pulls out a piece of paper. It's a photograph, of Mac and James and a couple other men in front of a cabin somewhere in mountains. Jack wonders if this is one of those less than enjoyable camping trips. James's hand looks heavy on Mac's shoulder, and the kid in the picture has the same forced smile Jack's seen far too often on Mac's face now.

Mac turns the picture over, but Jack's already seen the back, there's nothing written on it; this photo looks like it was developed by hand; it doesn't have the date and time stamps or the logo of a film store. And the envelope is blank, cheap paper like the kind that you get with a pack of blank notecards in a dollar store rack, no way to determine where it came from.

"It's another clue." Mac is staring at the picture like somehow that's going to make this make sense.

"And that will lead to another clue, and that will lead to another clue. Come on Mac, I've seen this movie."

Mac takes a sip of his coffee, grimaces, and sets it down, making a slightly disgusted face. I knew nothing in here should be trusted. "If you're talking about the one with the treasure map on the Declaration of Independence, you know they eventually found the treasure, right?"

"Fine. But if James's weird instructions ever involve violating homeland security protocols and stealing one of the most heavily guarded objects in the world, please tell me you'll call it quits. Or, you know, let me help."

Mac laughs. "We have a Riley, too, I'm pretty sure we could pull it off."

"We probably could, at that." Jack shakes his head, staring out the window at the rain that's started to fall. This feels more normal. Less like he's trying to prove that I made a good choice accepting him as a son. And then his phone buzzes.

"Hey Mac, it's Matty. Something came up."

"Okay." Mac stands up, stuffing the letter in his coat pocket. He sets the money for the coffee on the table, and the two of them step out into the driving storm.

* * *

LOS ANGELES

CITY OF ANGELS

Mac pushes open his door, dropping his duffel bag and backpack right there in the hall. He feels exhausted, and all he wants to do right now is take a shower and sleep for a week. Jack and I went straight from that cafe to meeting the team in London for an emergency. Three days, one runaway subway train, and a thwarted terrorist plot later, he's ready to take a break.

Matty promised no missions for the next two days. That's probably partly because of sustained injuries, Riley is sporting a three-inch gash on her left arm and Jack threw out his shoulder again. I feel kinda responsible for the shoulder, he dislocated it grabbing my arm before I went over the side of Tower Bridge into the Thames.

Mac hears the car back out of the driveway. Bozer's only dropped him off, he's on his way to pick Mickey up from Penny's again. I hope he didn't destroy another pair of her shoes. Penny's been more than happy to look after the dog while they're away, and she doesn't ask a lot of questions about where they've gone to. Mac wonders sometimes if she knows a little more than she's letting on. Patty or Matty could have sat down with her at some point and made sure she knew I wasn't just really blowing off the parole conditions. Because she was never anything but understanding any time he had to reschedule.

He takes another step into the house and his foot splashes into water running over the floor. Oh please tell me a pipe didn't break. He's not going to be happy if he not only has to repair something today, but also can't take a shower because the water's not working properly. I still feel gross from crawling around that dockyard trying to find the bomb crate.

He follows the trail of water into the kitchen, to the antique refrigerator that's been in this house probably since Harry built it. The water is clearly coming from underneath; the fridge's chiller unit is broken and it's leaking again. Mac groans, he doesn't have time to deal with this right now. I'll just shut it off, shove some towels under it and come back in like ten hours. At least it's not as serious as a pipe.

He's pretty sure Jack will show up at some point as soon as medical discharges him, probably worried about Mac being left alone for all of half an hour. I didn't fall off that bridge. I only almost fell off it. He's not sure he'll be awake when Jack does show up, but he scribbles a note on a piece of paper and leaves it on the table.

**The fridge is broken and I'm too tired to fix it right now, but there's warm beer in there if you want it. I wouldn't touch anything else though because I don't know how long it's been like that so the food inside might have spoiled. I'm sorry about your shoulder, I know you're gonna say it's not my fault so I'm gonna write it down so you can't argue with me again. Sorry about your phone too. I'll pay whatever replacement charge they're asking for now.** He really wouldn't have taken it if there was any other way, but his phone had been repurposed two days before to track a car, and he really did need Jack's to stop the subway train. Jack insists that since his phone was used to save the royal family and everyone else at that hospital dedication from a bomb, he should get a knighthood or something, and Matty had to remind him that they're not allowed to tell anyone what they were actually doing there.

He ought to clean out the fridge and start letting it air out, but he's too tired for that. Sorry Bozer. I don't mean to leave you with this mess. He leaves a second note for Boze, this time on the fridge door. **I'll help you clean this up when I wake up.**

He's headed for the hall closet and the extra towels to mop this mess up when he hears the doorbell. That's not Jack. Jack doesn't even bother to knock anymore, sometimes Mac just looks up and he's there. But it's not as disconcerting as it used to be. Jack practically lives in this house anyway. Did Bozer forget his key? Or teach Mickey a new trick?

He's too tired for this. He stumbles to the door, pulls it open, and has just enough time to register that those masked faces don't belong to his roommate or his dog before there's a sharp, electrifying pain in his shoulder and neck, and he falls backward, shaking, stiff from the shock. One of the masked intruders steps in and bends down next to him, and then the pain comes back and Mac's already exhausted body slips into blackness.

* * *

Jack gets rid of the sling the second he's in the car. He's had plenty of dislocated shoulders, he knows when it's bad enough to warrant a sling. This one isn't.

He wants to go home and crash for a week. But home right now means Mac's house more often than not. He's beginning to think he's the roommate. When Bozer goes off to spy school, maybe I should just move in, keep an eye on Mac. He can't say it doesn't seem like a good idea. I know Mac keeps telling me he doesn't need me being a helicopter parent, and for the most part that's fine and I totally respect it. But some of the past few missions... They've reminded him that Mac has the deck stacked against him. I know, I know, I'm a little paranoid. But he's never going to forget the looks in the eyes of the men at the garage, or the immediate assumptions made by those poker players. He's still waking up from nightmares.

The kid deserves so much better than that. He deserves only the best in the world. He puts his life on the line day after day to protect people who will never even know it. He's a genuinely good person, and all the world does, time after time, is hurt him. Jack wants to prove that there's at least one person in Mac's life who is able to see and respect and love him the way he deserves. I mean, I know the whole team cares about him, but none of them are really in a position to be fatherly. Matty and Patty are both fairly parental, but they're also colder and more distant, by virtue of their positions and the decisions they need to make for the whole team and for missions. Mac needs someone he knows will always put his best interests first, no matter the cost.

When he gets to the house, the door is slightly ajar. Was he really too tired to even close it properly? He knows Mac is the world's dumbest genius and regularly forgets to lock his door even though there are sticky notes on it for that very reason, but lately he's been more cautious. Ever since that interview with Murdoc, I don't think I've found his door unlocked once.

Jack's senses are immediately on high alert. Bozer's very distinctive little teal car is missing from the driveway, which means he's not here. Probably dropped Mac off and went to get the dog. Unlike the rest of us, he actually got some sleep on that op.

Jack pulls his sidearm and pokes his head around the door. "Mac, hey Mac, are you in here?" He'll feel like a fool if he clears the house and Mac's crashed on the couch or something. But there's no answer.

Jack steps carefully inside, and his foot splashes loudly in a puddle of water he didn't see on the floor. He cringes. Where is that coming from?

The note on the kitchen table, scrawled in handwriting that's even less legible than Mac's normal, is a bit more reassuring. Okay, he probably just wandered in and crashed somewhere. But one after another, Mac's bedroom, Bozer's, the living room, and the guest room are all clear. Jack even checks the bathrooms to be sure Mac didn't fall asleep in the shower. He was pretty tired.

He wanders out on the deck, wondering if Mac dozed off in a chair out there waiting for him to show up. And that's when he sees it. Mac's knife with the corkscrew jammed in the cork of an empty wine bottle, and a limp mask of George Washington's face propped next to it.

Jack brushes a finger over the engraving on the back of the knife; there's no way to claim it's not Mac's. And the last he knew of Bozer's mask of the Father of the Country, it had disappeared on the head of a master assassin who attacked Mac and Bozer in their own house. Murdoc.

* * *

Sam is just stepping out of the shower when her phone rings. Damnit, Matty, you told me you'd give us at least two days. She's exhausted and she only just managed to get the horrible fishy smell from the dockyard out of her hair. I would have fallen asleep the second I got through the door, but that smell was unbearable.

She can't imagine who else would be calling her right now. She's finally managed to get her phone number out of every telemarketer database, with a little slightly illegal help from Riley. Could be Patty. Maybe she wanted clarification on the section of the report that said 'MacGyver disarmed the bomb with shoestrings and a subway pass card'. And since Sam is the only one who was present at the scene and still has an operating phone, she might have been the first option.

It's not a number she recognizes. "Hello?"

"Cage, it's Jack." He sounds like he's on the verge of either yelling or crying. "Mac's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean?"

"I mean someone took him. When I got here, the door was partly open, and...he's not here." Sam feels a cold pit open up in her stomach, but she still needs to be the logical one.

"You're sure? He's not in the basement? He's not fixing something and got too absorbed to hear you yell? He's not aslee…"

"No, Cage, someone took him. And I think it was Murdoc." Jack stops, and his voice is muffled for a second, like he put his hand over the mouthpiece. "No, Mrs. Schwartz, it's fine." Sam guesses he must have used the neighbor's phone to call since he hasn't picked up his new one yet. "Nothing to worry about."

"I'm coming over. Now." Cage's exhaustion is as gone as if that shower she took was a frigidly cold one. If Murdoc has Mac, I know exactly what he's going to do to him. Sam remembers the stories from when she and Murdoc were on the same side of the law. Most of his jobs, he killed the victims quickly, and often from a distance. But some of the younger men that he took contracts on were found raped, tortured, and killed slowly. I heard about one job he had that he took a week on. She'd never given much thought to it all before all this happened with Mac; she was never the type to mix business with anything that could be considered pleasure. But Mac not only fits the victim profile, he also got away once. Murdoc certainly won't let that stand. He was willing to help us try to keep Mac alive before, because he was in prison. But it was only because he wanted to kill Mac himself.

When she gets to the house, Bozer is already there, and Mickey looks distraught, running around the entryway, sniffing the ground and whining. Jack and Bozer look like they're equally frantic; Jack is pacing and glaring at nothing, and Bozer is sitting down only to get up and look around the room again. When she opens the door, both of them jump and Jack's hand goes to his sidearm. When he sees her, he relaxes, a little, and the concern on his face takes a totally different form.

"Okay, Jack, show me what you found." Sam takes a deep breath and steels herself to be the logical, rational one here. Murdoc scares me, and that's not something I say lightly. But I'm also the one who understands him best. She's gotten inside his mind once already, even if he managed to do the same to her. He's focused, obsessed. Mac is his weak point, he was less protective of information when I brought him into the conversation. It makes sense, that he would risk being caught to get his hands on Mac. She listened to the tapes Matty has of the interrogation room sessions. What he wanted to do… The sooner they find Mac, the better.

"It's right out-" Jack cuts off as the door opens and spins around, half raising his gun.

"Whoa, Jack, it's just me!" Riley holds up her hands placatingly. "I came as soon as I heard."

Jack sighs, holstering his gun and rubbing a hand over his face. He's exhausted and on edge, he's overreacting to everything. "I'm sorry, Ri. It's just…"

"Murdoc." Riley nods, she looks almost as devastated as Jack.

"Check every traffic cam in this neighborhood. One of them has to have found something." Riley nods and sits down with her computer immediately.

Jack leads Sam out onto the deck, where there's a wine bottle sitting on the table and a mask propped beside it. Sam flinches. She saw the crime scene photos from the last time Murdoc was in Mac's house, and she read through Mac and Bozer's accounts of the incident thoroughly. She knows the mask and the wine bottle would mean nothing to anyone except the assassin.

She glances up at Jack; his face is the most distraught she's ever seen. And she saw him on Riley's surveillance during the Bishop Prison op. The situation isn't so different. Mac taken by someone who definitely means him harm, no real way to track him down. But Jack is far more attached now.

Mickey whines, shoving himself under her arm. Sam gently pushes him back, rubbing his nose and trying to reassure him. "Hey, hey, we gotta keep him away from this. In case we get any prints."

"There won't be any." Jack sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "Sam, I just missed him. I just missed him. He might have driven past me. Mac could have been right there. I might have seen the car…"

"Jack. This was not your fault."

"Then whose fault is it? Cause it damn sure ain't Mac's." Sam doesn't know what to say to him.

The door slams open again, and Cage glances over to see both Matty and Patty walking through. They look absolutely deadly. "Bag, tag, and photograph everything," Matty says coldly. "Until we know exactly what happened here and who we're dealing with, nothing is to be overlooked."

"This is definitely Murdoc," Jack says.

"He might as well have signed his name," Sam adds. "Mac's knife in a wine bottle, and that George Washington mask he used when he attacked Mac and Bozer last time."

"Yeah, and that's the same bottle Mac used to knock him out the window," Bozer says. "I almost died that night, I don't think I could forget any of the details."

Cage knows Matty wasn't here for the initial encounter with the psycho. But Patty was, and from the look on her face, she's come to the same conclusion they all have. Murdoc came here to finish the job.

Riley looks up from her computer. "Okay, I scanned all the footage. Eight cars drove out of this neighborhood around the time Mac was taken. A DMV search gives us names and addresses on seven of the license plates."

"And the eighth?" Matty asks.

"According to the DMV, that license plate won't even be issued for another six months."

"That's him," Jack says. "It has to be."

Riley's typing frantically. "Okay...okay...I've got a hit. It's parked outside a warehouse in Sylmar."

Cage doesn't like the look in Jack's eyes as he rushes for the door. He's going to get Mac back or die trying.

* * *

SOMEWHERE

UNKNOWN AMOUNT OF TIME HAS PASSED

When Mac wakes up, his first thought is that he's cold. He blinks a few times, but wherever he is, it's pitch black, and he can't see anything. His eyes are slowly starting to adjust to the room, but it's taking longer than usual. He's so tired, he just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can't because he shouldn't sleep here. This isn't safe.

The floor is damp and chilly against his feet, he can already tell someone's taken his shoes and socks. His wrists are cold too, the kind of cold he's all too familiar with. Handcuffs on his arms. He tugs against the cuffs, even though he knows it's useless, and his arm flares with a sudden sharp pain. He looks down to see a needle there, attached to a line that blurs in and out of focus as his eyes follow it up to a suspended IV.

He glances down at his cuffed hands and notices something else; his belt, instead of being buckled in the front, is now buckled past the first loop to the left. No, no, no. He tries to force his fuzzy, incoherent thoughts to focus. I don't feel like...like someone did anything. He's all too familiar with the aftereffects and he's not aware of any...or he's just too drugged to feel them.

There's a sudden flash of brilliance and Mac flinches. What... A bare lightbulb over his head has just switched on. This just went from bad to worse.Someone is coming.

He doesn't know who has him, but anything is going to be bad. And then there's a soft whistle from the stairs, and he cringes, feeling ice creeping through his veins along with the drug. No, please, no, no, no. He wants this to be a nightmare. He wants to wake up. He wants it to be like every other time this has happened in his mind. Please, please, let me wake up.

"Oh MacGyver, how I have missed you." Murdoc's voice is an eerie, hungry purr. Mac sighs, letting his head drop. This time, there's no way to escape.

Murdoc bends down over him, and Mac instinctively attempts to flinch away. Don't touch me! He wants to shout but all that comes out is a muffled mumble that sounds nothing like what he means to say, and Murdoc's gloved hands run coldly up his arms.

The needle twisting in his skin is a sharp flare of pain. It's almost a relief, in a way. If I can feel that it hurts, I would be able to feel if he...

"Oh, good, you can still feel pain. Setting the dose was...tricky. I had to give you enough to slow you down, but not so much you passed out." Murdoc walks across the room, grabs a second chair from the corner, and pulls it over, the legs screeching and scraping on the concrete floor. Mac winces. The sound feels deafening and he has no idea if that's just because of the echoes in the room or because of whatever drug is running into his veins.

"Why are you doing this?" He whispers.

Murdoc leans forward in the chair, steepling his fingers and staring directly into Mac's eyes. "You see, I want something from you."

"I'm not going to tell you where Cassian is." Mac already knows that's not at all Murdoc's intention, but pretending is the only defense he has left. Stalling the inevitable.

"Oh, I already know that, Angus. But I do think you could be...persuaded." This time, his hand gently slides along Mac's jaw instead of twisting the needle in his arm. Mac turns away in disgust. "I am a reasonable man. I would be willing to settle for one of two things I want from you, and if you give me Cassian's location, I will release you unharmed. This time." He shrugs. "If not…" The direction of his stare is all too clear.

"No you won't."

Murdoc leans back in his chair, sighing. "I'm wounded, MacGyver. I told you, I'm a man of my word. But you seem determined not to trust any deal I offer."

"You'll do whatever you want, so get on with it. I'm not giving you any information about Cassian." I can't save myself, but I can keep anyone else as far from this monster as possible. "I'm not going to let you hurt him too."

Murdoc's face actually registers disgust. Or at least that's the impression Mac is getting, it's hard to tell in the shadowy room. "You think I would do that? To my own flesh and blood?"

"You don't care for anything or anyone. You're incapable of love." It may not be wise to rile Murdoc up, but Mac would almost prefer that Murdoc act on anger, and not lust. If all he does is torture me, it would be better.

"Possibly. But I do prefer living, and I would rather my son not murder me in my bed one night." Mac shudders at both the cold, calculating logic, and the insinuation that this is spoken from personal experience. James was cruel, but he never crossed that line.

"Then why could you possibly want him? He's never going to want to be with you, not when he learns who you really are."

"Oh, I strongly disagree. I would think you of all people would understand, MacGyver. Sons need their fathers; you are living proof of that."

"Not when their fathers are monsters." Mac shivers. He's never met Murdoc's son in person, but he feels a strange kind of protectiveness over the boy, like Cassian is a younger sibling. Maybe because he and Cassian share at least one thing in common. An absent, psychotic, dangerous father.

"Oh, so you flew all the way to Paris just to hunt down a monster?" Murdoc chuckles. "You may have Dalton and your precious little team fooled, but you know the real reason you're chasing dear old dad is because you're incomplete without him." Murdoc stands up. "All your life you've had to hide that dark side he gave you, keep it locked away or you'll be punished for it. But with him, you could set it free. We all inherit something from our families, and we can only deny that for so long."

"I'm not him. And I don't want to be." Mac doesn't want to be reminded of his greatest fear, of the thought that someday, he might end up just like his father.

Murdoc only smiles. "But you needed him, and he wasn't there. When people punished you for being like him, he could have saved you. But he never came for you. He left you so alone, so...unprotected." Murdoc leans in close, his hand resting purposefully over the inside of Mac's thigh. Mac swallows, shuddering. "Maybe there is one difference. Maybe now I see why you can't understand. Because Cassian has a father who is looking for him as we speak, while it seems yours wants nothing to do with you."

"That's not true."

"Oh, you mean the clues." Murdoc smiles. "Tests, designed to prove that you're worth the effort of his time. That he should want you." His smile gets even wider. "But Cassian has never had to prove he is worth my attention. And neither do you, for that matter." He pulls out a knife from his belt and steps up slowly. "Unlike dear old dad, I appreciate the simple fact that you exist." Murdoc glances at him, twirling the knife. "I find you truly fascinating. But you know what I've wondered, since we last talked? What keeps me up at night?" Mac shakes his head, he doesn't want to know. "I want to know what it sounds like when you scream. " And then the knife is digging in, slicing down his chest. Mac grits his teeth against the pain; he's had worse. He's not going to give Murdoc the satisfaction as long as he can help it. Murdoc simply clicks his tongue. "You're only going to make this harder on yourself, Angus."

"What can I say, I'm stubborn," Mac mumbles snarkily. He doesn't have Jack to be the sassy one this time, and he misses it. I feel a little better feeling like there's some part of him here.

"Oh, I see. You think if you can stall long enough Papa Bear Jack is coming for you. It's sad, really, the way you latch onto him for protection. Just because your real father wasn't there to save you." He shakes his head. "I told you, sons need a father in their lives. Otherwise they grow up searching for someone else to protect them, someone else to fight their battles for them. But I assure you, he won't be able to do it this time. We are quite well hidden, Angus. It's just you and me."

* * *

Murdoc watches a few drops of blood trickle off the end of his knife and smiles. Of course, for what he wants today, he can't do as much damage as he would like. I need to leave him able to walk away. No broken bones...this time. He swallows down the thought of how wonderful it would be to get a real scream, a hoarse one that shattered itself and broke off in sobs, out of Angus. But he's stubborn, and anything I did to make him scream like that would be too much.

He regrets that he needs to work so quickly; that he hasn't had time to enjoy MacGyver the way he wants to. But unfortunately, I couldn't take him out of Los Angeles, not for what I need him to do this time. Contrary to what he lets Angus and his team believe, he really does have a life, with plenty of things that concern him. MacGyver just happens to be quite high on the list of those things.

He licks his lips at the thought of the things he would do if he truly had no other agenda than getting Angus to give up Cassian's location. He's been dreaming of them since that meeting in the junkyard, and the interrogations when he was in prison only made him want this more. But those are distractions, right now, from the main thing he needs. After the Phoenix froze all my accounts, I've been forced to start over. Riley, the pesky little hacker, even found the ones he buried under piles of fake cover IDs and shell companies. And taking care of Cassian is going to require more than the resources from a stash site or two. He needs to start over, and he knows exactly how he's going to do it. It took a team to take me down, last time. But I wonder what they'll do if they're faced with another one?

"I've waited so long for this," he says, deliberately peeling off one glove, then the other. Angus watches him, wide-eyed. The barely suppressed terror there is absolutely beautiful. "We've been so close, and yet we've never really touched. " He tosses the gloves to the floor and runs his fingers up the bloodied line he's left on Angus's chest before cupping his face in his hand. He works hard to ignore the warm thrill of desire that stabs through him at the feel of Angus's blood under his hand, at the touch of his skin. Another time .

The boy's skin is just as warm and soft as it has always been in Murdoc's imagination. He tries to pull away, but Murdoc digs his fingers in, a stern warning, and MacGyver stops struggling. But the terror in his eyes is undeniable now. Murdoc rubs a thumb gently over Angus's cheekbone, enjoying the contrast of fresh blood and pale skin. He's perfect. He lets a finger trail down the boy's throat, smiling when he feels the convulsive swallow there.

"Oh, you have no idea how long I've dreamed of this," he says quietly, letting his hand rest on the exposed portion of MacGyver's chest and savoring the warmth and the erratic rise and fall as the boy draws shuddering, gasping breaths. "Or maybe you do. I'm sure you of all people can understand how long the days are in a little empty room by yourself. How desperately you search for something to fill that time." Angus shivers harder. "But you made every one of those long days and cold, cold nights bearable." Shame and anger are flooding the boy's face in equal parts, and it's wonderful.

Murdoc pulls back, smiling at the crimson handprint now smeared across MacGyver's cheek and jaw. He's so much more beautiful when he's broken.But he needs to focus on why they're both really here. He reaches for the knife again. It's a different kind of pleasure, a sharper one, but all he can afford today.

He traces the knife lightly across Angus's cheek, leaving only a line of the still-dripping blood that's on the knife. He's not particularly keen on damaging his pretty face, not yet. He just wants to watch him shudder. His next movement goes deeper, a cut across the collarbone visible through the unbuttoned top of MacGyver's now tattered shirt.

It would be fun, he thinks, to call the Phoenix and do whatever he wanted to the boy while they were forced to watch, but that would make them a little too focused on finding him, and knowing Riley, she'd find a way around his encryptions far too quickly for his liking. It will have to be enough to imagine what happens when Jack sees the wounds he's left. Nothing serious, sadly, they probably won't even scar. He'd so enjoy watching Dalton threaten helplessly, only able to watch. But another time, another time. He can't break Angus so far that he shatters.

Murdoc needs him to be intact enough to follow the trail he plans on leaving. Of course, they'll still think they're tracking me down. But they'll be a little less determined to annihilate me from the face of the earth. He's playing the long game, this time. In the end, I'll have MacGyver in my hands, and they truly will be helpless to stop me.

He needs to be careful, or he won't be able to help himself. I can't afford to lose control, not this time. Angus certainly wouldn't be able to walk then. But he can still get some enjoyment out of this. Something to make his dreams just that much more vivid.

Moving the belt and taking Angus's shoes, he thinks, was a simple stroke of genius. I certainly didn't have time to go through the trouble of actually stripping him, and if I had, he wouldn't have his clothes back now. And that would have led to other things, things Murdoc can't afford this time around.

Still, he can enjoy MacGyver's confusion. He'll never know what I've done to him. And he'll wonder, and dream of me, the way I dream of him.Knowing that, knowing what he's turned himself into inside of the boy's head, is almost enough consolation for the knowledge that today will leave him unsatisfied. It truly is a shame, to be this close and have him at my mercy, and do nothing. Patience isn't a virtue Murdoc has ever been very familiar with. Neither is self-control.

But he won't leave totally empty-handed. He's wanted to know for weeks now what Angus's scars look like up close; he has a truly stunningcollection of them. He might as well take the opportunity to find out.

* * *

"There is more than one way to make you scream." Mac shivers. No, please, don't do this to me. Murdoc's hands are almost careful, as he runs the knife up the sleeve of the shirt. The blade scratches against his skin, but Mac can tell it's a planned movement, that Murdoc intends to make him bleed, but not seriously. The sharp blade slices through the cloth easily as Murdoc continues shredding his already torn clothes, and Mac flinches and shudders when Murdoc pulls the material away. The damp air is cold on his skin, but Murdoc's hungry gaze is even more chilling. There's no disguising the desire in his eyes.

The man's hand slides down Mac's thigh and he shudders. He wants out, he wants Jack to come find him...but what if he doesn't make it in time? Jack always comes for you. But Murdoc says they're too well hidden. Is he right? That I always rely on someone else to save me because of what James did? That's not true, it's not. Murdoc is just twisting everything good and making it into something to hate. I don't run crying to Jack to protect me. I just know he's going to be there. I can protect myself, but he doesn't want me to have to. He wants to be there. Mac isn't a burden, he's not.

He flinches away from Murdoc's hands, pushing his legs tightly together, thankful they're not chained to the chair as well. He hasn't been very thorough... But maybe Murdoc just wants the challenge of letting Mac fight back a little. He learned a long time ago some people were sick enough to enjoy someone who struggled, who tried to stop them.

"Oh, it's so much more fun when you're awake for it." Mac flinches at the implication. Would he really have taken my clothes just to replace them again so that he got to watch my reactions the second time he stripped me? But he can't deny that Murdoc could easily be just that twisted. And my shoes and socks are gone, and my belt is buckled to the side instead of in front. It would have been easy for Murdoc to replace his clothing exactly the same as he removed it, but taking the shoes and moving that belt buckle is intentional. He wants me to know what he did to me...or to think he did it. Murdoc might have only done those few things, knowing Mac is confused enough by the drugs to have no idea what actually happened...

A slap to his face jolts him out of his frantic attempts to figure out what's been done to him. "Wakey wakey, sleepy Angus!" Murdoc licks his lips, pacing around Mac like a lion watching its meal. "I told you, the last time we met, that I wished I could see your scars, but I never expected this...masterpiece." His smile is full of sick fascination. Mac wants this to stop, but at the same time he's oddly grateful Murdoc has stopped tearing away his clothes to go on a random monologue about his scars. If he's focused on something else, maybe I can get an advantage. Murdoc has tucked his knife back into his belt for the time being, and if he gets close enough Mac might be able to get his hands on it. It would be a pitiful defense against whatever Murdoc has planned, but if he catches the man off guard, he might be able to inflict a serious enough injury that Murdoc would need to leave to take care of it. And then I might be able to get out.

"This one is exquisite." Murdoc's hand hovers over the diamond-shaped mark on Mac's shoulder. "Certainly deeper than most of the rest. And judging by the scar, it didn't heal very well. I wonder, does it still ache?" The next moment he's jabbing deep into the center of the scar with two fingers.

Mac winces. Murdoc is right, that's the deep wound that didn't heal well, the one he first went to Carlos to have treated. It still aches if he's cold or if the weather is damp, even though at this point the dull pain is simply a familiar and normal part of his life.

"Oooh," Murdoc's voice changes as his hand skims downward to Mac's side. "So, the Boy Scout isn't as perfect as he would like everyone to believe." Mac knows he's looking at the narrow white lines. He's right. Sometimes that seems like the most shameful thing to admit to anyone. Even more than what they did to me in prison. Because it's one thing for someone else to have hurt him. It's another for it to have happened by his own hand. He hadn't wanted Jack to see those scars, ever. All they are is a reminder that I made mistakes, and people died. That I failed.

Murdoc continues running his hands over Mac's chest and arms, stopping to examine each of the faint white and brown and pink lines and raised knotted scars. Mac remembers all the stories behind them, from the burn on his shoulder when he didn't get out of the way of one of his own bombs in time, to the surgical scars on his stomach that have been there since that disastrous crash in Kazakhstan this spring.

He can't stop shivering, both from how cold this room is with his shirt gone, and from the light touch when Murdoc's bloodstained fingers brush his skin. It feels wrong for him to be so gentle. Mac thinks he preferred it when the man was torturing him. He can't help but wonder what this is all leading up to, and it can't possibly be good.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is likely actually only a few more minutes, Murdoc steps back. Mac risks a glance at his eyes, and there's something unreadable there, almost regret. Mac's mind is too foggy to try and process what that means. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go...prepare my tools." The way he says it, Mac's sure that these "tools" aren't the kind of torture instruments Murdoc typically uses. And there's no doubt at all in Mac's mind of what he plans to do when he comes back.

* * *

Jack still can't believe this is happening. This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up, right? He can't believe that sick, psychotic man has Mac at his mercy. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen.

He's afraid Riley's lead is too easy, too simple for Murdoc. Last time they tracked down one of his vehicles, it was a trap and Patty took a bullet in the arm. She and Sam have both followed him out to the GTO, Jack is pretty sure Patty still wants to get even for that shot. And whether she'll admit it or not, she's got a giant soft spot for Mac.

"Cage, how much ammo you got?" He already knows Patty has four. Ever since Morocco, she always carries an extra backup.

"Same as usual, three mags. One in the gun, two in the belt."

"Stay sharp. Last time, he pinned us down." Jack knows she knows that, but it makes him feel a little better to be giving orders like this is any other op. Like he might actually be in control of something instead of just watching the world fall apart around him.

He jumps in the car and jams it in reverse, only to hit the brakes when he sees the figure in the rearview. Bozer is standing the the middle of the driveway, blocking his exit.

"Boze, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are. It's too dangerous."

"And Mac is right there in the middle of it." Bozer shakes his head. "I survived Murdoc once already."

"So let's not push the luck! Get back in that house."

"Like that's any safer! Jack, if you want me to stay behind, you're gonna have to shoot me. Short of that, get in the car and drive."

"We're wasting time," Cage and Patty say nearly in unison. I know, damn it, I know!

"Fine!" Jack pulls the seat forward so Boze can get in the back with Sam. "But when the bullets start flying I can't be worried about watching Mac's back and your tiny ass at the same time. So you stay behind me or Patty or Cage the whole time, you got it?"

"Cross my heart and hope to…" Bozer stops. "Right, bad choice of words."

Jack follows Riley's directions to the warehouse, and pulls over about a block away. No sense in announcing their presence, even though he's sure Murdoc is probably long gone. Riley's scanned the area, and it looks like there's no technology active. He's not planning on trapping us with remote-control rifles again.

There's no guarantee the man isn't hidden somewhere in there, but Jack has the feeling that he's not. "Hey Sam, what's your read?"

"He's long gone," she says. "I would be. Last time, he trapped you to get to Mac. This time, he already has him. There's no reason to bait a trap." Jack knows she's just doing her job, what he asked her to, but the thought is sickening. I'd rather be in danger than have Mac out there somewhere in the wind with that monster. Murdoc could be planning on leaving the country with him. We might never see him again.

Jack pushes the front door open, it swings easily. Jack's never a fan of already open doors. He moves slowly through the building, taking the center wing while Cage and Patty fan out to each side of him. He can hear Bozer walking behind him, and the echoing footsteps are sort of creepy. "I'm clear here," he calls.

"Same here," Cage shouts.

"I've got something." Jack rushes over to where Patty is kneeling next to two bodies. She looks up at him. "They were like this when I found them." Good to see she hasn't forgotten Ceylon. Patty's always been one hell of a field agent, and Jack is deeply grateful she's here now. She has more experience than even I do. If anyone's capable of tracking down that psycho, it's a combination of Patty's field skills, Cage's creepy knowledge of Murdoc's mind games, Riley's ability to seemingly pull leads out of thin air, or at least the wireless signals in it, and Jack and Bozer's bulldog determination to bring Mac home.

"This is doornail dead, right here," Jack says. "Double tap to the back. Execution style."

"He was tying up loose ends," Cage says.

"Only way three can keep a secret is if two of them are dead," Bozer mumbles.

Jack bends down next to a puddle on the floor that isn't blood. "Looks like he had a getaway car in here, with a nasty oil leak. Riley, is there any way to get eyes on this building between...Patty, you got a guess on the time those guys were shot?"

"A little less than two hours ago, I would say." She glances up at him.

"Okay, an hour before and after, that's our window."

"There's no cameras focused on the warehouse itself, it's been abandoned since the nineties. But there is a building across the street with a camera that just might have a wide enough angle to catch the garage."

Jack paces impatiently, waiting for Riley to work her magic. I know she can't possibly work any faster than she already is, but it still feels like it's taking forever. "I've got something," Riley sounds triumphant. "A black four door sedan pulled out of there and headed north. I'm tracing its route now."

"Keep us posted." Jack hurries to the car.

Riley's voice in his ear directs him along Murdoc's route. He's stuck to side streets, for the most part, and Jack is more than a little confused at the erratic pattern. Where was he going? "Okay, the car turned left. Up ahead. And then I lost it. It's not on the next intersection cam, and I even hacked the ATM security of a bank a block from there and it doesn't show up. So it's somewhere in that general area."

"Okay, guys, fan out. Let's find that car." Jack parks and climbs out. This is a random business district, full of shoddy restaurants, sketchy pawn shops, and a laundromat that judging by the clientele launders a little more than some mismatched socks.

It doesn't take too long to find the vehicle they're looking for. The car is parked in a blind alley. "He never left?" Jack asks.

"Not that I can see. That pawnshop has security cams, but they never caught him leaving the alley. The restaurant must have an old VHS tape system, so unless you want to walk in there and convince a guy who looks like he might be fronting for the Italian mob to let you look at his security footage, you're out of luck."

He tries the doors of both buildings that open onto the alley, which are tightly locked, and glances at the wall behind them. Would they have climbed? He knows Mac would never have gone willingly; and Murdoc probably wouldn't have been able to carry him if he had to freeclimb those walls. I'm thinking way too complicated. There has to be a simpler explanation. They can't have just vanished into thin air.

"Jack." Patty is kneeling beside a manhole cover. "This was lifted recently. There are rust marks on the pavement from a prybar." Sam joins her, rubbing her fingers against the marks and showing Jack the smears of color left behind. LA had rain last night, that's happened since then.

"No wonder he vanished." Jack shakes his head. "Looks like we're going down."

* * *

Mac shivers. The light is still on, and every shadow seems to be peeling itself off the wall, turning into Murdoc, and wandering over to leer at him. He's trying not to black out, it seems like the drug is kicking in stronger now, probably because of how long it's been running into his body. He has to get away before Murdoc comes back, because once he does…

No, don't think about that. Think about how you're going to get out of here. Mac glances around the room, his normal ability to catalog possible resources is fading in and out of focus. Door, chair, IV, handcuffs… It's all being drowned out in a desperate panicked litany of I have to get out, I have to get away from him, please, don't let him come back.

Something about this whole situation feels wrong. Even more wrong than being cuffed to a chair and waiting for an obsessed madman to come back for him. He's very, very confident no one is going to find me, if he's taking this much time. Mac's surprised Murdoc is dragging this out so long, but maybe he enjoys playing with his food. He did wait until the last session of the interrogation before he asked for that lap dance. The man is playing some kind of twisted game, and unless Mac can get himself out, he's going to learn exactly why it's taking Murdoc so long to come back.

Murdoc was right about one thing. I can't rely on anyone else to save me now. I have to save myself. Mac leans over, catching the needle in his teeth and pulling. It hurts, a fiery stabbing pain, but this is the only way he's going to be able to get out.

He drops the needle into one hand and gets to work picking the cuffs. It takes longer than it should, his hands are shaking and his vision is so blurry. He's terrified that any second Murdoc is going to come back and find him trying to escape. Finally the cuffs fall free with a clatter that makes him wince. If he heard that...

He can't afford to wait to find out if Murdoc is coming. If he finds me, he finds me. Mac will simply have to accept whatever punishment Murdoc decides to mete out. Nothing can be much worse than what's already coming. He stumbles up to the door, but it is locked, with a deadbolt that only latches from the outside. He can't pick it, and he doesn't have the strength to try and lever it open, even though the IV stand...and then he hears the pipes hissing next to him, and a few of those scattered pieces of information start to float together, so much more slowly than normal, but still beginning to form a plan.

IV stand...steam pipes...I might be able to make a sort of jackhammer out of that, to pop that lock. He works as quickly as he can, steam scalding his hands and arms as he detaches the pipes and attaches them to his homemade jackhammer. I only get one shot at this, and if I did it wrong it could blow up in my face. He can't find the energy to worry.

There's another horrible clatter as the lock breaks away from the door, and Mac cringes. He drags himself up the stairs and leans against the door until it opens. He stumbles out into a room that's bigger and a little brighter than the last one.

He looks around, wishing the room would stop spinning. How do I get out? And then he hears footsteps. Murdoc is coming back, he's going to find him...Mac stumbles along until he finds a door that opens under his hand. It's just a closet, with a hole in the floor that leads down into darkness. He huddles in a corner of it, hoping that Murdoc won't look here. But he'll see the lock, he'll know I got away. He doesn't want to go back to the dark and the cold, but it's his only way out.

He starts to climb down the rungs of the metal ladder that lead down into the hole, but the metal is slimy and slick and he's shaky. He loses his grip halfway down and plunges into the six inches of water at the bottom of what feels like part of the storm drain system. It rained last night, there's more water than usual.

He struggles to his feet, cringing at the smell and the thought that that filthy water is getting in his cuts and scrapes. It's cold, too, and he shivers, wrapping his arms around himself and starting to walk. He doesn't care much where he's going, only that he wants to get as far from Murdoc as possible.

The bottom of the pipe is covered in grit and debris, and a few times when he walks under the light from a grating he feels something prickly that he thinks might be dropped keys. His feet ache, for the few minutes before they go numb from the chilly water. He keeps walking, stumbling, falling, dragging himself to his feet again.

There's a rattling of footsteps from somewhere behind him, and he starts to shake. No, no, don't let him find me! He starts to run, the best he can when the world is swaying and blurring, taking random turns down random tunnels.

"Oh MacGyver, come out and pla-ay," Murdoc calls, and the terrifying light tone in his voice makes Mac shiver. Mac can only imagine what's waiting for him if Murdoc catches him.

He has to get out of these tunnels. Down here, Murdoc can follow the noise he's surely making, and they're all alone. He can take Mac right back to the room he just escaped, and no one will know. Above ground, people will at least see me. Maybe eventually somehow Jack will find out.

He finds a ladder that leads up to a manhole, and scrambles up it desperately, praying his numb feet and shaky hands don't fail him. If he falls now, Murdoc will find him, it will all be over. He can barely force himself to let go of the ladder to push the manhole cover aside with one hand.

He drags himself over the edge, pulling himself onto the ground next to the hole. There's so much light and noise and it's overwhelming.

He stumbles to his feet, blinking at the bright sunlight. He can hear people yelling but it's all blurry, and he can't really see anything. He hears horns and sees large dark shapes of cars moving past him, and he can feel the wind from the movement. He's in the road and he needs to get out of it.

He hears a horn blaring, louder than the other ones, and people screaming, and then he sort of feels like he's flying...and everything goes black again.

* * *

SEWER TUNNELS

SOMEWHERE UNDER LOS ANGELES

"This is a maze," Sam whispers. Her voice echoes.

"Look around. Mac must have left us some kind of clue." Jack knows this is grasping at straws. Mac was probably unconscious. But maybe there's something here that can tell them where he was taken.

To their credit, Patty and Cage don't argue with him. They continue the same way he is, searching the walls, kicking their feet through the layer of water from last night's storm. Cage finds a rusty key and Patty unearths a destroyed watch, but neither of them are Mac's.

He's not sure how long it's been when Sam stops kicking around through the grit and garbage and walks back over to him. He already knows from the look in her eyes what she's going to say. "Jack, listen to me. This trail's gone cold. There's no hope of finding them down here now. We have to try this another way."

She's right, there's nothing here that can help them. But Jack can't accept defeat, not this easily. "I can't leave him with that monster, Cage."

"No one is asking you to. But you can't help him if you wander around in the sewers for the rest of your life."

The ride back to Phoenix is deadly silent. Even Bozer doesn't comment on the rank smell in the car from the sewer water their shoes are still soaked with. When they get back, Riley and Matty are already in the War Room, sorting through photos of Mac's house. I was so close to being there. If I'd insisted he not leave until I was ready to go with him... He knows Mac wouldn't have liked that, but it would be better than this. I'm not letting him out of my sight again. He refuses to think that maybe he won't have that chance.

Jack can't stand around in the War Room and do nothing. "Patty, I gotta go after him. I gotta find him."

She hands him a phone, apparently they finally got around to getting him a new one. "We'll call you if we find anything." She knows he can't sit around here. It's like the time Riley went off the grid in Nepal. He wouldn't stop until he got her back. Patty knows he'll do anything for his family.

He's going back to the area where they found the car. Maybe there's something there they overlooked, even the faintest possible lead.

If he's being honest with himself, it's just an excuse to get away from the useless busyness in the War Room. Everyone is trying to be helpful, and everyone is looking at him with pity. Stop acting like he's gone for good. We're gonna get him back. But the question is what condition they're getting him back in.

If Murdoc's so much as touched a hair on Mac's head, I'm going to tear him limb from limb. That psycho already haunts Mac's dreams; this is only going to make it a million times worse. And if he actually...if he… Jack can't imagine what that will do to Mac.

He's pushing seventy on a fifty speed limit street when the call comes in. It's Patty, and he hits speaker phone, unwilling to pull over to wait to listen.

But when he hears what Patty says, he slams on the brakes and pulls to the side of the road. "We've intercepted a 911 call with a victim matching Mac's description, who apparently climbed out of a manhole, acting disoriented, and was hit by a car."

"What?" He can't believe this is happening. NO, no, no.

"The accident itself wasn't bad, but apparently he's incoherent." Patty's voice is strained. "We're sending a Phoenix ambulance to avoid having him taken to a public hospital, but you're closer than the ambulance is." Oh thank God. Jack lets out a deep breath and rests his head on the steering wheel.

"Get me that address, right now." The text is already pinging. He loads it to his navigation app that Riley hacked and updated to make it show less than legal shortcuts.

Jack's phone is beeping with a second call. It's a number he doesn't know, and he sincerely hopes it's not Murdoc. What if that wasn't Mac in the 911 call? What if Murdoc set up some elaborate fake to lure us…

"J-j-jack?" The voice on the other end of the phone is weak and shaky, but it's definitely Mac. "Please, Jack, come get me. Please."

"Okay kid, where are you?"

"I don't know...it's a road...there was a car, it hurts, I want to go home." He's clearly drugged and disoriented.

"I'm coming right now, Mac, just hold on, okay? I'm gonna come get you, it's okay, it's gonna be fine, I'm coming." He peels out and now he's going eighty in a fifty zone. Nothing matters except getting Mac back.

* * *

The world comes back in bits and pieces. Sunlight. Car horns. Gritty concrete. Hands on his arms...no, no, no, no, he can't...not those hands. He thinks he might have yelled, because someone says something soft, calming. "It's alright, you need to lie still, we're getting an ambulance, it's alright.'

Mac flinches. No, get away. Leave me alone. Every touch on his bare skin feels like it burns. He wants them to put something over him, to cover him up. He can hear them gasping when they see the cuts and notice the old scars. He hears someone whisper, "oh the poor boy" and another one snap something about "self destructive junkies".

"No, please, don't. Please." He shoves at the hands. Don't touch me, please, no. He glances up, and the world is wavery and indistinct. Someone has their hands on his arm, his neck...someone with short black hair and a black shirt. No, no, he can't have found me! He pushes desperately, and he thinks maybe he's screaming for someone to help but he can't hear his own voice. Don't let him take me away. Please, please, stop him.

"It's alright, calm down, you're safe. We're going to get you help." The voice isn't Murdoc's and the hands don't feel cold and wrong like his. But when Mac blinks, it's him, he's right there, leering down at Mac.

"You thought you could escape from me? Oh Angus, you're only making it worse. You know, you bring this on yourself." There are more hands, on his chest, on his legs. The ones on his chest are making the cuts burn and sting.

"Please, stop. Please." He can hear someone talking, but he doesn't know what they're saying, everything is blurry and hazy. Someone in an orange t-shirt leans down, and Mac flinches away, gasping. Everything is blurry but El Noche's face is horribly clear. He's breathing nitrogen, he can't think, can't move, can't breathe...

"Leave me alone!" He knows he's crying, he knows he's pathetic, but he doesn't care anymore, he just wants them to stop. "Let me go!"

He knows it's not cold but he's shivering, so badly. The asphalt and concrete are rough and warm on his skin, but he hates that he can feel them. His shoulder and back feel too hot, and it feels like they're on fire; he doesn't really know what happened to them...oh wait, the car hit him and he fell and skidded, that's what happened. Things are coming back now.

He thinks he got away, but Murdoc might have heard the accident, he might be able to figure out that that's where Mac is. What if he shows up and convinces them that he's here to pick Mac up? I need Jack. "I need to call my dad," Mac says softly. They'll let Jack help me if I say he's a parent.

He takes the phone one of the bystanders hands him and dials Jack's number; he knows it by heart. It takes forever for Jack to pick up.

I broke his phone. What if he doesn't have a new one yet? And then Jack's voice comes through and Mac wants to cry with relief. Jack is coming, it's going to be okay.

* * *

Jack can see the accident site well before he gets there. The cluster of people is both awful and reassuring. Mac is going to be scared out of his mind surrounded by so many strangers, but at least if they're all still around, it means Murdoc didn't show up and grab him yet. Jack parks as close as he can and starts pushing his way through the crowd.

"You're going to have to stop right there, sir, there's an injured man here," a short, redhaired woman insists, pushing him backward with surprising force.

"Let me through," Jack insists. "He called me, I'm here to come pick him up, it's okay, I promise."

"I'm going to have to ask how you know him," the woman says, making a clear barrier between Mac and Jack. He can see that she's a social worker, she still has her office nametag, **Linda H** .

"I'm his father." He says it without even a second's hesitation, because he knows that's what Mac will have told them. Somehow, he just knows it. "I know, I know this looks really bad, but he's been in some trouble lately and I promise I'm going to make sure he's okay."

"It sounds to me like he's been living with someone abusive." Linda frowns. "And I have no way to prove you're his father. He has no identification on him, and you could know anything about him if you've lived with him."

"Just let me talk to him. You'll be able to see if he's scared of me. And his name is Mac."

The woman nods, then turns around and bends down next to Mac. Jack can't hear what she's saying, but the next second, Mac sits up sharply, looking straight at Jack.

Jack shudders, there's blood all over one side of the kid's face. And the more he stares at it, the more it looks like the shape of a handprint. Oh God what happened to him?

"Jack!" Mac struggles, trying to get to his feet. "It's okay, please let him through. Please." The desperate need in his voice must convince Linda that Jack was telling the truth. She moves back, but he can tell she's going to be watching Jack's every move, making sure he's not manipulating Mac into going with him.

"I'm here, kiddo, it's okay." Jack sinks to his knees beside Mac, hands hovering inches from him. What if all touching him does is scare him more?

"Murdoc…" Mac mumbles.

"I know, Mac, I know, it's okay, he's gone. I'm right here, I'm not gonna let him hurt you anymore, okay?"

Mac looks...less damaged than Jack was anticipating actually. There are several sluggishly bleeding gashes on his chest and arms, but they're not deep, barely scratching the skin. Jack's had worse from barn cats on the ranch. It appears the bloody handprint on his face isn't covering any wounds, Murdoc must have taken the blood from the gashes he left elsewhere. Mac's left arm and the back of his shoulder look red and raw, but it looks like that's probably from when he hit the pavement after the car hit him. Jack guesses his leg will have some nasty bruises, but that's not visible right now. And he's deeply grateful for it. Murdoc had him for over three hours, and those are the only marks he left on him? Something feels off about this.

Please don't let there be damage I can't see. Jack really hopes the reason Mac is mostly unscathed is just that he managed to escape Murdoc fairly quickly. Mac isn't reacting to him the way he did after Bishop, so Jack is fairly certain that especially with Mac drugged and panicky, he would know if Murdoc had done anything worse, but he needs to be sure, he needs to know. "Mac, he didn't…"

Mac shakes his head, shivering, and Jack doesn't press any more. He would tell me .

"Come on, kiddo, let's get you home." Jack leans down. "Can you stand up?"

Mac tries, then falls back. "Here, let me help." He puts his arm around Mac's shoulder and pulls the kid to his feet. "Oh damn, kid." Mac's left knee is all scraped up too, it was hidden by his other leg until now, but he must have skidded and rolled. How hard did that damn car hit him? Jack feels like crying at the sight of his battered, bloodied kid.

The ambulance squeals up, and Jack nods to the paramedics but doesn't leave Mac's side. He knows the Phoenix team won't question him. And now he has to get the crowd out of here.

"Thank you for making sure he was okay." Jack knows they meant well. And this Linda was trying to make sure he didn't end up back in the hands of an abuser. "It's going to be fine, now. They need some space." People begin nodding and start moving away, until it's just Mac and Jack and the medics and some passersby.

Jack paces, watching the medics check Mac's vitals, clean up the wounds on his chest and arms, and start asking questions to evaluate how lucid he is. Mac is answering, slowly but at least somewhat confidently. He's rubbing his arms and shivering, even though it's late summer and the sun is out. Okay, I may not be able to do much about the medical concerns, but this I can help with.

Jack digs around in the backseat until he finds the old hoodie he shoved in there weeks ago. It's worn and soft and it's at least something . He's sure all these people hovering, while Mac was laying there half-naked in the road, was absolutely terrifying. Mac is still shaking, arms crossed protectively over his chest, shielding as much of his body from view as he possibly can.

Jack jumps when one of the paramedics puts a hand on his shoulder. "We're about ready to take him back to Phoenix, but he's refusing to get in the ambulance." Jack can imagine why. Small enclosed spaces have not been good to Mac recently.

"Is he stable?"

"For the most part. We're monitoring for adverse reactions to the drug, but it seems to be leaving his system without serious side effects."

"Will it be a problem if I drive him there?" Jack doesn't want to let the kid out of his sight either, and he knows Mac will feel safest in the GTO. The paramedic frowns but finally nods.

"It's not ideal, but he does seem calmest around you." Jack gives her a small smile and walks over to collect Mac from the back of the ambulance.

"Hey, you ready to get outta here?" Mac nods. "Here, kiddo." Jack hands him the sweatshirt. "Now that they got you all patched up, thought you might want this." Mac snatches it from him almost desperately, pulling it over his head, or at least trying to.

Mac struggles weakly, tugging persistently at the cloth and trying to shove his head through the arm hole. "Here, is it okay if I help?" Jack reaches his hands out, and Mac nods. He tries not to touch Mac's skin while he works the sweatshirt over the kid's skinny chest and arms.

* * *

When he hears Jack's voice at the edges of the crowd, Mac feels the fear finally fading away. Jack is here now, he's finally going to be safe. He can hear Jack arguing with someone, and then he's there, right there, telling Mac what he already knows, that it's going to be okay.

He can tell Jack's trying to be careful, trying not to touch him. But he knows Jack's hands will never hurt him. He wants to tell him that but he can't get words out properly right now. Finally Jack seems to understand, he puts his arm around Mac's shoulder.

And then there are sirens and the medics are there, and Mac tries to keep reminding himself they won't hurt him, they need to touch him to help. But every time they do, he flinches. He at least recognizes these people, they're Phoenix staff. If it was just a random EMT crew I don't know if I could take it.

Jack steps away, and Mac knows he needs to because the medics need to get him cleaned up and checked over, but he wants Jack to hold onto him or at least be there and make sure no one hurts him. 'It's sad, how you latch onto Dalton for protection.' Murdoc's voice echoes in his thoughts, and Mac shudders and bites his lip, so hard blood tastes copper on his tongue and draws out an even older memory, one he's almost forgotten, of standing in the kitchen in Mission City with an ice cube held to his lip and James explaining to him how to throw a proper punch. 'Listen, Angus, I'm not going to go to the school and fix this for you this time. I'm tired of having to go down there and ask them to keep an eye on you. You need to learn how to fight your own battles.' He remembers the day after, when Donnie and his cronies came back, and he tried, he really did, but hitting back only made it worse. Is it really so wrong? To want someone to watch over me?

He doesn't want to get in the back of the ambulance, not without Jack. Murdoc is still out there somewhere. Anything could happen. He's glad when he hears Jack offer to give him a ride back, and the medics agree. He wanted that, but he didn't want to ask and sound like a scared, pathetic child. He just needs to feel safe right now, and there's a part of him that sounds very much like Murdoc that mocks that need, but there's another voice in his head, Jack's voice, that tells him it's okay.

"Here, kiddo," Jack says, and he's pressing something soft into Mac's hands. It's a hoodie, and Mac gives Jack a tiny grateful smile. The shirt is warm and soft and smells like Jack. Mac curls into it, it feels safe. No one can see him now, no one can touch him. Jack is here and it's going to be okay.

The car feels safe too. It's warm and smells like gun oil and the carpet cleaner Jack always uses and Riley's hairspray because she always leans back on the headrest when she rides shotgun.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jack asks. "Mac, don't scare me like that again." He knows Jack is only scolding because he was terrified.

"I wasn't trying," Mac says, he feels a little more like joking now, like trying to put how scared he was in the past for good. I don't want to think about it and I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be okay and move on . The last of the drug is wearing off and he's finally able to get a grip on his emotions and push them down.

He doesn't want to be too much to deal with and push Jack away, not after everything. It wasn't so hard before he told me he was basically my dad now. It was okay to be not okay then, because that was field agent Overwatch Jack, and Mac knows how that works. I have to tell him when something isn't right, or it can be dangerous on a mission. But the more Jack's taken over that fatherly role, the more it feels strange to go to him with problems. Mac knows that makes no sense, but in his experience, admitting weakness to his dad only made everything worse. I know Jack is so far from being James that that's never going to happen, but it's so hard to remember.

"I know you didn't do it on purpose." Jack looks over at him for so long Mac's afraid they're going to get into a crash. "But when I got there and the door was open and you weren't there, you scared the hell out of me. I'm not letting you go home till Matty calls whoever installed her security system and makes them do your house too."

"I mean, normally I have Mickey around…"

"I know, but I'd rather be overprotective than regret not taking precautions." Mac nods. He doesn't think he'll feel safe in his own house again for a while. But staying with Jack puts him at risk too.

Apparently the drugs haven't totally worn off yet, and he must say at least some of that out loud, because Jack shakes his head and looks at Mac again, even longer. "Kiddo, I will take any risk I need to to keep you safe. That's what family is for."

"But…"

"Mac, at some point I'm gonna manage to get through your head that you are never, ever gonna be a burden to me." Jack sighs. "No one in their right mind is gonna let you stay anywhere alone tonight anyway. And I don't like to brag, but I do have the best track record in Phoenix when it comes to protecting assets or fellow agents." He grins slightly. "And when it comes to Murdoc, I think you need the best we have to offer."

"I just...I shouldn't put you in danger just for me…"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, because that is your messed up excuse for a dad talking, not you, kiddo." Jack shakes his head. "Teams protect each other. I was a field agent for four years before I felt really comfortable doing solo ops, and even now, man, do you know how many times I woulda died if I didn't have Cage or Riley or you watching my back?" He chuckles. "I think you've saved my life more times than I've had to save yours, if we're being honest. That runaway train in Frankfurt, the Ghost, Murdoc when he first showed his creepy-ass self, hell, the first time I ever met you you stopped a bomb from going off and infecting San Francisco with the freaking plague."

"Technically, that was a virus and the plague was a bacterium…"

"Fine, out-science me." Jack chuckles. "But my point still stands. The least I can do is have your back against one creepy homicidal maniac." They've gotten to Phoenix, Jack is just pulling into his usual parking space. He shuts off the car and rests his hand on Mac's shoulder. "I know all your life, everyone taught you you had to handle things on your own. But you got a family now, and that means that's not how it works anymore." Mac nods.

* * *

PHOENIX FOUNDATION INFIRMARY

MAC SPENDS TOO MUCH TIME HERE

Riley can't make herself leave the room. She needs to be able to see, with her own eyes, that Mac is right here, back safely. The whole day has felt like a nightmare, but she really hopes this isn't the part that's a dream.

She rests her fingers over Mac's hand, his own is cold and shaky, but at least solid and real. He's still sitting right where he was when she and Matty and Sam and Bozer came in, on the edge of an exam bed with his legs swung over the side, alternately looking at them and the floor.

He's refused to let any of the medical personnel take the old, worn-out sweatshirt of Jack's that he's got; he's wearing it over the scrubs they replaced his ruined, filthy clothes with. She knows the feeling. When Jack got her back from that interrogation room in Nepal and gave her his shirt because it was cold and her own was soaked from the repeated waterboardings, she slept in it for a week.

Sometimes it's easy for her to forget how traumatic her own first years in the field were. Argentina, Nepal, Cairo, Budapest, Pakistan, Sri Lanka… she's learned to compartmentalize and keep the nightmares at bay, for the most part, but it wasn't always like this. I'm not sure if this is better or worse . Sometimes she watches Mac and Bozer's reactions to trauma and wonders if she's losing her humanity. But watching other people get hurt in the field is still the worst thing she can imagine, and taking a life still keeps her up at night. So she thinks it might still be okay. It's been the subject of more than one late-night conversations with Sam over a beer, because if anyone knows what it means to lose their humanity to the job, it's Cage.

Jill steps in, shoving her glasses up her nose and fidgeting with the clipboard in her hands. "The lab is running tox screens on your blood right now. We should know what Murdoc drugged you with in the next half hour."

"If I had my guess, I'd say something in the nightshade family. Atropine, hyoscyamine, scopolamine." There's a clinical detachment in the way he says it, like he's talking about something that happened to someone else.

"And that means?" Jack asks, and Riley can hear the barely suppressed fear.

"It was probably a low dose, it shouldn't do permanent damage. Murdoc said he was trying not to make it too strong."

Jack slams a fist into his hand. "Yeah, well, his idea of too much and my idea of too much are not the same, and when we find him I'm gonna make sure he knows that. I think a few broken bones should get the message across real well."

"Yes, but we have absolutely no leads on how to find him," Matty cuts in. "As much as I would love for you to be able to do that, we don't even know where he was keeping Mac, let alone where he is now."

"I-I might be able to help with that," Mac says softly. "If I could remember how I got out…"

"Whoa, whoa, hoss, if the only way to find Lord Nutbar is to make you relive everything he did to you, I don't want him that bad."

"But we have to find him or he could do this again." Mac's starting to shiver slightly. Riley squeezes his hand.

"I'm with Jack," Bozer says. "Dude, I know you want some closure, but don't you think you've been through enough for one day? I mean, you got kidnapped by the world's creepiest psychopath, tortured in some freaky underground room, and then got away only to climb out a manhole and almost get killed by a car."

"Cars. There was definitely more than one."

"That hit you ?" Jack looks murderous.

"No, no, in the street."

Riley glances from Mac to Cage, Sam's got that 'I have an idea' face that in Riley's experience means either doing drunken inkblot tests at three a.m., or Sam walking into an interrogation room and coming out with exactly what they need. "Guys, I need a minute alone, just with Mac and Riley."

"Whoa, whoa, hey, what gives?" Jack asks.

"Loftus and Palmer, 1974. Their experiments proved how even the most seemingly benign questions can alter a witness's memories, even create false ones." She glances at Mac. "If you really want to try and find a clue to where you were, we have to do it now, before there's the possibility of your memories becoming even more tainted." She looks at him. "I'm not going to lie, you could have a very vivid recall, and it might be traumatic. It's your choice to do this or not."

"If I'm scared of the memories of him, it means he already won. I want to get him." Mac whispers.

"Okay, then I need everyone but Riley to leave, and Riley, you need to be absolutely quiet." Jack resists, pushing back against Cage's hands. "Jack, I promise, he's going to be okay. I'll take good care of him."

"I know. But Mac, I'm gonna be right outside the door the whole time. I'm not taking my eyes off you, you hear?" Mac nods.

Riley sits down at the table with her rig, ready to take notes on whatever Mac describes. Anything could be the clue we need. "We're gonna play a little game, it's one Rudyard Kipling wrote about. He called it the Jewel Game, now everyone just calls it "KIM". Keep In Memory." Riley knows that one, she learned it in CIA training. "Here's how it works. Whenever you're ready, put yourself back in the room where Murdoc took you. But the rules of the game are that you can't name what you see, you just describe it." Mac nods slowly. "And if it's too much, we can stop whenever you want."

"Alright." Mac takes a deep breath, breathing out slowly, and closes his eyes. "I-I'm sitting in a chair, it's just…"

"Okay, but try even simpler. Just the visceral. You can describe colors, shapes, textures, sounds, smells." Mac nods, eyes still squeezed shut.

"It's damp, and cold. It smells like mold...and, um, burnt motor oil. And bleach. I'm sitting on metal. It's cold, it's rough in spots, it's jagged. It's old. All around me are flat, rough, grey rectangles." Riley types frantically, trying to capture every bit of the memory. So far, all she's got is a cinderblock room that may or may not be underneath a garage of some kind. "There are hard, smooth metal bands cutting into my wrists. I'm trapped, I don't like them, they hurt and I remember…" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head, and Riley's pretty sure he's talking about handcuffs and remembering a time further back in his past, not uncommon when sensations overlap. She's done that herself in this memory game. "There's a pain in my right arm, just below the elbow. And it's spreading, it's all over my chest now. There's something wet and red and sticky, all over me, and there's something sharp-" He cuts off with a startled gasp, jerking forward and panting.

Sam puts her hands on Mac's shoulders, holding him steady and trying to catch his eyes. "It's okay, it's okay. It's just that vivid recall I warned you about. Are you okay?" She cups a hand around the back of his neck, clearly trying to calm him down. There's no question what he was just describing; Riley heard the medical team report in, and she can see the edges of bandages under the collar of the scrubs and sweatshirt.

Mac clutches the overly long sleeves of Jack's sweatshirt in his hands. It looks like he's trying not to go into a full-blown panic. "He's in my head, I can't do this." Cage looks up.

"Riley, tell Jack to come in." Riley nods and gets up. Jack is literally pressed against the door already, and the second Riley opens it he's reaching for her shoulder.

"What the hell was that?"

"He had a really vivid recall. She's doing KIM with him." Jack sighs, nodding. "But she wants you there."

Jack doesn't question it. He walks in and sits down next to Mac. Cage glances at him. "No matter what happens I need you to be quiet. But you can hold his hand, ground him a little. I know some people go deeper into their memories than others, and it looks like he's having a little trouble staying on the surface. He's having some really strong reactions."

Jack twists his fingers into Mac's, and Mac takes another deep breath. "Do you want to go back?" Sam asks. He nods slowly, closing his eyes.  
"There's a sound of, uh, metal. It's jingling." Mac rubs at his wrists, where Riley can see faint red marks. "There's a strip of wood around a grey metal rectangle. I can feel cold air seeping through from the other side...it's a way out." He blinks and shudders. "I'm in a large open space, I can hear footsteps. There's a small, dark space, and there's a black square opening underneath me. There's water, it's all around me, it's cold. I can smell dirt and gasoline and garbage. I can hear splashing, the water...I'm walking and it...it's moving with me." Riley finally has something actionable; she pulls up a chart of direction of flow in the runoff tunnels.

"And after about...twenty minutes? I heard something. It was like...um...bells. Ch-church bells. But it wasn't just church bells. There was another sound, right after the church bells started. It was harsher. Like an air raid siren or...or...a fire station." His eyes suddenly fly open. "It means I know how to figure out where I was."

"You do?" Jack asks, forgetting to be quiet. But Cage doesn't scold.

"Yeah. Church bells, they ring every half hour. And it was about fifteen minutes before I crawled out of the manhole so…"

"1:30 p.m." Riley makes a note of it.

"And by law the LAFD if required to keep a record of every siren, so Riley…"

She was on that two minutes ago. "An alarm sounded at Grand Street Fire Station at 1:29."

"1:29 and how many seconds?" Jack gives him an odd look. "It's, uh, kind of important."

"Fifty-eight."

"Okay, fifty-eight. So that siren sounded before the church bells, but I heard it after. And that's because sound travels at 340 meters per second, approximately, and it propagates out into a circle, so I have to solve for the radius…" He's going into what Riley and Jack have begin to simply call "Mac mode", rushing around grabbing a marker and starting to scribble on the glass wall that separates the infirmary from the waiting room. I hope that was a dry-erase marker.

He's mumbling, and Riley thinks she might remember some of this from high school geometry, but it's been a while. It's absolutely unfair that he's so good at everything. There was a time when I would have killed to be able to do what he does. Some days I still envy it. But she's started to think that maybe being so smart has a price. He never wants to admit defeat, never wants to think that there's something he can't fix. He always has to prove himself, always needs to be the smartest person in the room. And as messed up as her childhood was, she wouldn't trade it for Mac's.

As smart as he was, he could never be good enough for his father. She wonders how much of Mac's unbelievably vast knowledge and skill is actually an inherent part of him and how much was him trying desperately to find something that would finally, finally impress James. At this point, would it even be possible to know? Clearly James is the sort who values logic and intelligence above all else, and Mac tried to make himself into the person James wanted to see. What would he have been if he had a father like Jack?

All these skills were a high price to pay to try to earn a father's love. And Mac still seems to believe those are the only things that make him valuable.

He turns around with a triumphant little smile, and Riley feels a little better. At least doing this does make him happy. "I figured it out. So, we are looking for a sewer tunnel that is 1,020 meters from a church and 1,700 meters from that fire station."

"I got two that fit your criteria...but only one where the water is flowing toward your exit point." Mac comes over to look at the screen, cocking his head like a confused puppy.

"So, I was drugged, disoriented; probably moving no more than 1.5 miles per hour...which would put Murdoc's, uh, torture room," He shivers, then taps his finger on the map, "right about...here."

* * *

Mac knows going with the team to search the building he's located probably isn't the smartest move. But he has to go back. He can't really explain it even to himself. Jack tried to argue him down, but finally gave in and let him get his go bag and change.

"At least let us clear it first," Jack insists, and Mac will agree to that. He stays in the van with Matty and Bozer while the tac team clears the building.

"I'm clear in my area," Jack says, finally. "Riley? Cage?"

"Still working on it," Riley says. "But I'm not picking up any heat signatures."

"Me either." Cage's voice echoes, she's in some kind of open space, probably the second floor level. This building has been abandoned for a long time, and the built in parking garage in the lower floor probably accounts for the motor oil smell Mac remembered. Jack's clearing that level personally.

"Okay, Mac, Bozer, I'm clearing you two to go in." Matty says. "Don't do anything stupid." Mac nods and climbs out. He heads straight for where Jack is in the parking garage.

"I think we found your room, Mac." Jack's standing at a door with a broken-out lock. "It looks like just what you described down there." Mac shudders, he doesn't need to see it.

"This is definitely it," he mumbles, glancing around. This is the wide open space he remembers from his escape, and he can see the closet with the hole that led down to the sewer tunnel. There's a clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and he flinches before reminding himself it's more of the tac team, not Murdoc. It's Riley's unit, and from the look on her face as she walks over, something is wrong.

"Jack," Riley whispers, and it's clear she doesn't want Mac to hear her. "You need to see what else they found." She looks horrified, like she might be sick at any second.

Jack nods, stress lining his face, and turns toward where Riley just came from. Mac starts to follow him, but Riley puts a hand on his arm, gently. "Mac, you don't want to see it. Trust me, please, don't go in there."

Mac shakes his head. "I have to." Because if he doesn't see for himself, the possibilities will haunt his imagination. Riley shakes her head but says nothing else, and there's a look in her eyes he can't quite understand.

The room he follows Jack into is dark, lit only by the low gleam of a reddish-shaded small lamp resting on a table. But the evidence photographers are hard at work, and in the bright flashes from the cameras, Mac can see a mattress in a corner, and the table set nearby. The top of the table isn't even visible under the various items Murdoc has clearly carefully arranged on top of it.

It's a sickening assortment of things Mac's only ever seen in the windows of a shop that used to be in the Bozers' neighborhood. Mama Bozer always hurried them past there when they walked to the corner dollar store and told them if she ever caught them staring they'd be washing their eyes out with soap.

At the time, Mac hadn't understood why. Now, he wishes he still didn't know. Because seeing these same things laid out on a table in Murdoc's carefully prepared room is too much. He barely makes it out of the room before he falls to his knees in a corner, throwing up what little is in his stomach.

He's not aware of anything but the bitter taste in his mouth and the afterimages of that awful room burned into his eyes, until he hears footsteps behind him and feels a large, warm hand rubbing comforting circles on his back. "Hey, kiddo, it's okay." Jack kneels beside him.

Mac just shakes his head. Nothing is okay, not as long as Murdoc is still out there somewhere. "I'm sorry…"

"Nothing to be sorry for," Jack says, and it sounds like he's actively working to avoid throwing up as well. "That sick freak…"

Mac bites his lip. "H-he must have left in a hurry. Leaving everything behind like that." He doesn't want to think about it anymore. If I hadn't gotten out of there when I did… He can't stop shivering.

"And that's not the only thing he left behind," Riley says quietly. "It looks like he left a message for you, Mac." He gets up mechanically and follows her. Nothing can be worse than what he just saw... right?

He still flinches when he sees it. **BE SEEING YOU** is scrawled in red paint on the wall. And below it is a manila envelope with MacGyver written on the front in the same sprawling crimson handwriting. He doesn't want to touch it. But he has to know.

He borrows Riley's spare pair of gloves and picks it up carefully, carrying it to a table. He knows better than to just open an envelope found at a crime scene, there could be any number of booby traps. But it doesn't seem to have wires or odd powder on it, and he slits the top with his knife, emptying the contents onto the table.

It's a set of photographs, all clearly hand-developed, and a flashdrive. Riley takes the drive and plugs it into the secure port on her rig, and Mac starts spreading out the photos. He stops, shaking, hands unable to move.

He didn't just break into my house. He's been watching me. For weeks. He begins to shiver uncontrollably. There are pictures of him leaving the house with Mickey for a run, pictures of the whole team on the deck after a mission. It has to be after Azerbaijan, he can see the bruises on himself and Jack and Cage. It's utterly terrifying.

"Hey, bud, let me. You don't need to…" Jack gently pushes him away. He shuffles a few more of the pictures around and then turns away, coughing into his sleeve in a way that sounds like he's about to be sick. What could possibly... And then Mac sees the photos Jack's just uncovered. They're clear views into his bedroom, and in the only one he can fully see, he has his back to the window, changing his shirt. That was a week ago, when Mickey bumped into him and made him spill coffee all over. He can tell that's where Jack stopped; Mac doesn't want to see any more either. He can imagine it only gets worse.

He can't stop shaking. This time there's definitely nothing in his stomach, but he's still throwing up. And he can't breathe. He was right there. He wanted me to know. And he wanted me to know that he has those pictures. These can't be the only copies. He's vaguely aware that Jack is holding onto him, rubbing his back, whispering, but it's drowned out by the roaring in Mac's ears.

This is worse. This is so much worse.

* * *

The tac team has already cleared every inch of the building. There's no sign of Murdoc and the crime scene techs are moving in to collect evidence. Sam has been listening to everything on comms, and she knows exactly what's happening downstairs. Murdoc really decided to up his game. The over-the-top, elaborate setup he's left for Mac to find suggests that he fully intended to have them figure out his location. Which is another reason she's confident the building is clear. But it begs the question, why?

She's not convinced that this was all just a game to humiliate and terrify Mac. I'm sure that was the cherry on top, but Murdoc could have done that so much more effectively in so many other ways. She's honestly shocked that the only damage Murdoc did was the cuts he left on Mac's arms and chest. After what I heard him say in those interrogations, I was expecting we would either get Mac back in a body bag, or raped. But that's not what happened. And she doesn't like not being able to understand.

If he just wanted to play twisted mind games, he could have left those pictures anywhere he wanted. He could have had them delivered to the Phoenix. Or slid them under Mac's door. Or spread them out on his kitchen table; clearly he could get into the house. She can't get over that sick little room Riley found...maybe he wanted Mac to experience that in person, but why not take him there, then, instead of that basement?

What do you know? She walks herself back through the clues, pacing the perimeter of the empty room. Murdoc has been watching Mac for some time. He could have acted on that at any point. He chose now. Why? He clearly took his time preparing this place. Maybe he waited until it was ready. Murdoc wanted us to find this place. Either he trusted Mac to be able to get back in, left us a clue we overlooked, or would have eventually started sending hints. None of this is painting a helpful picture. He's done everything he can to frighten Mac, but he left few actual injuries. Even she never set up something this elaborate, and it's very unlike Murdoc. He doesn't usually have the patience for something like this. He likes to work quickly.None of this fits his usual pattern.

Her phone rings, which is odd. Everyone who might need to get hold of her is on comms already. She pulls it out and hits the button to cast the voice onto the comm audio frequency before answering.

"Hello, Samantha." Murdoc's voice is an eerie gloat. "So nice to see you're finally putting your talents to use again. You were so wasted in an office."

"Not that it's any of your business," Sam says coldly.

"Oh but it is! A fellow artist, their gifts unappreciated, it's a tragedy." His smile is audible in his voice. "Don't lie, you missed this. The thrill of the hunt, outsmarting the enemy, this is what you live for. It's in your blood. "

"So you're saying I've managed to outsmart you?" She can't resist the jibe.

"Oh, on the contrary. I'm the one holding all the aces, Samantha. But it's no fun to win the game by a slaughter."

And then there's a searing pain in her shoulder and she's flung to the ground by the force of a bullet impacting her vest. The phone flies out of her hand to lay beside her, Murdoc's voice continuing. "I'm a sportsman, Samantha, I like to give my prey a fighting chance. And a headshot from a distance, well, that just doesn't do justice to the legend you are. No, when I finally kill you, you're going to see my face." And then the call hangs up and she lays there on the floor panting, unwilling to admit to the fear flooding through her veins. He could have killed me. And he didn't, just because he likes to play his twisted little games. But now she knows something else. He's jealous. He knows what my record looks like, and he wants to prove he's better. He's going to meet her face to face, give her the chance to defend herself, risk being beaten at his own game, because he has a chip on his shoulder.

"Cage!" Riley shouts. She can hear her running toward the middle of the room.

"No, stay back! He had a clear line of sight, don't come out here!" She has no idea if Murdoc's sportsmanship extends to any of the rest of the team.

"Check every rooftop south of this building for five blocks!" Riley barks out. "Where'd he hit you?"

"Vest. Shoulder." She knows Riley already heard the exchange on comms, she knows that Murdoc now has Sam in his sights metaphorically as well. "I'm alright. Just aches a little." She slowly pushes herself to her feet, retrieves her phone, and stumbles over to the doorway. "Well, one thing's for sure, he hasn't left town."

* * *

Jack is one hundred percent and undeniably rattled. This is the scariest damn mission he's ever been on, and he thought nothing was ever going to top Cairo. But at least in Cairo, it was straightforward. Bad guys want bomb, Jack and Riley are in the way, Jack ends up shot and Riley almost ends up dead .

This is a whole new level of insanity. Murdoc stalks Mac for weeks, kidnaps him, brings him to this place, cuts him up a little, and then basically allows him to escape, assuming he's good enough to find his way back and enjoy the little parting gifts Murdoc left? And then Murdoc calls Cage, has some freaky little heart to heart, and shoots her in the vest? Jack definitely does not like any of this. Not at all. He's proving a point. That he can take any of us, whenever he wants. He can kill, or kidnap, when it suits his whim. Jack hates the idea that all of them are at that psychopath's mercy. That somehow, taking another breath has been made to feel like a betrayal because it's what Murdoc wants. He's manipulating all of them, but most unforgivably, he's manipulating Mac.

The kid had a damn panic attack on them, right there, and Jack doesn't blame him after finding those photos. A medic team is looking after him and Cage. Sam's going to have a nasty bruise, but she's caught the team spirit and is insisting she's fine, that she can gear up and go back to work. Mac is still shivering. His breathing has calmed down, but he's clutching Jack's fingers in a death grip. He hasn't let go since Jack pulled him away from that table and those sick pictures.

Jack actively tries not to let hate filter into his job. Once you do that, you stop seeing human beings and start seeing targets. He did that, a long time ago, and he almost didn't come back. I can't afford to go back to that place. But right now, when he thinks of Murdoc, all he can feel is a burning rage. He's torturing Mac, even though he doesn't have him physically in his hands any longer. Jack can't imagine what the kid is going through. To have someone watching you in your own home like that... He shivers. I don't think I'd ever feel safe in my own house again.

Matty walks up, and her face is grim. "The tac team checked every rooftop for five blocks and found nothing. Not so much as a boot print or shell casing."

"I didn't expect them to," Cage says, hopping down off the table she's sitting on with a grimace. "He was very confident that he wasn't going to be caught."

"Still, I'd like you…"

"If you say you want me to go into protective custody, Matty, the answer is no." Cage shakes her head. "Everyone in this team has his target on their backs anyway. He just formally threw down the glove to me. He wants to play games, and next time, I'll be ready." Matty nods.

"Bozer and Jill found something interesting. Jack, I think you might want to take a look."

Jack scrubs a hand over his face. "Matty, if it's more…"

"This isn't about Mac. We think it's Murdoc's next victim, but we have no way of proving it." Jack hops off the table, and behind him he hears Mac do the same. He turns to see the kid following him like a freaking lost puppy. Yeah, I don't want to let you out of my sight either, kiddo.

Bozer and Jill are spreading papers out on a table. Most of them are charred beyond recognition. "It looks like Murdoc tried to cover his tracks," Bozer says. They haven't told him about the photos yet. He's having a bad enough day already. No sense in having him beat himself up for that psycho being around the house before this. Sooner or later, he'll have to find out, but hopefully it's when Murdoc is either behind bars or six feet under. Jack doesn't particularly care which.

"This is the largest piece," Jill says, holding up a section with just one charred corner. "It feels like photo paper, but we can't make out a clear image." The second she says photo paper, Jack's heart clenches, but when she spreads it out on the table he can see the faint remaining marks of a headshot. Thank God Murdoc didn't leave another one of his stalker photos for them to find.

Mac's fear has given way to his scientific curiosity. "Does the forensics team have a portable x-ray machine?"

"In the SUV," Jill says, and follows it up with what has become the conditioned response to any of Mac's requests for a piece of equipment. "Are you going to break it?"

Mac stares at the floor. "Um, yeah. I can fix it though."

"Go get him the x-ray machine," Jill calls to a tech who's just leaving the building.

Mac is starting to shiver again. "Hey kiddo, you okay?" Jack asks.

"Yeah. I just have to go back in the room where Murdoc tortured me...and turn off all the lights."

* * *

Mac really, really hopes that if he keeps up a stream of science related chatter, it'il distract him from what he's about to do. It worked before, I just have to keep my mind on something other than the current awful situation.

"This photo's days of reflecting visible light are over. The fire scorched most of the emulsion. But if there are any silver bromide crystals left, they should glow if we hit them with enough x-rays. Which is why I'm opening this portable x-ray emitter and removing the voltage resistor." He pops it out with the pliers on his knife. "If I replace it with a penny," he reaches into his pocket; he always keeps some from before 1982 with him. That was before they started making them with copper-plated zinc; most of what I need them for needs the higher copper content . Bozer complains about finding them in the laundry, but there's a jar full on the shelf above the dryver and Bozer always tucks two pennies and three paperclips in every pair of Mac's pants when he's finished the wash. "I can use the copper to rebuild the connection, and get a higher output of x-rays."

"Is that safe?" Jack asks.

"Relatively. I would recommend stepping back and covering yourselves." He glances up, taking a deep breath and bracing himself. "Bozer, the lights?" The room goes dark, and Mac fights down a surge of panic. Just do this and get it done and it can be over. He turns on the x-ray machine and snaps several photos with the digital camera he brought down.

"Uh, Mac, not to rain on your sciency parade, here, but I don't see anything," Jack says.

"No, you don't. But the camera does. Bozer, lights, please?" Mac turns the camera so the others can see the image he captured. "It's called x-ray fluorescence."

"It's called a damn miracle," Matty whispers. She's been uncharacteristically quiet since they found that second room.

Mac hands the camera over to Riley. "Hey Riley, do you think you can clean this up, get us a good look at the face?"

"Actually, I think I can clean it up enough for "Friar" to start running it through databases." She glances at the image. "I think there are enough visible features for the prediction algorithm to do reconstruction."

Mac can't get out of that room fast enough, and it seems like the others can't either. He sees Jack wince at the sight of a few small bloodstains on the floor. They sit in the van with Riley while she watches her software do its work.

"I've got a hit!" Riley says excitedly.

"Ok, where? Interpol, CIA, FBI's most wanted?" Jack asks.

"Um...no...CDE." Riley sounds incredibly confused.

"Wait, California Department of Education?"

"Yeah, he's a fifth grade teacher." Riley shrugs.

"Did you break Friar?" Jack asks.

"No...This is a perfect match to the picture Mac got us. But it just doesn't make sense."

"None of any of this makes any sense," Matty says. "But since Murdoc tried to destroy that photo, we have to assume that this man is his next target."

* * *

HENRY FLETCHER'S HOUSE

NOT MURDOC'S TYPICAL MARK

Jack can't help but feel the slightest bit stupid when he and Mac show up at the address Riley got them. She's still going through her coding, double-checking to be sure her algorithms are all correct, because apparently Friar is throwing false positives. I know that program is supposed to be designed to eliminate those kind of glitches, but there are flaws in every system. Still, there's no sense in taking chances. Fletcher does live in LA, and Murdoc is in town.

"Mr. Fletcher? Mr. Henry Fletcher?"

The door is answered by a middle-aged man in a sweater vest. The epitome of schoolteacher. Riley checked up on him, he has no black marks on his record whatsoever. But Jack hasn't been able to forget what Mac says Murdoc told him about getting rid of the cancers in the world, or the suburban family that had hired the assassin to take out a domestic abuser. It's possible a parent hired him to get rid of a teacher who assaulted their child, afraid the system would fail, or knowing there's been a cover up. If that does turn out to be the case, Jack thinks this guy might be better off with Murdoc. But my job right now is to keep him alive long enough to find out.

"Yes?" Jack can tell the man is utterly and completely confused.

"You need to trust me, and come with us right now."

"What?"

Mac speaks up hesitantly. I really didn't want him to come but I also don't want to let him out of my sight. "We, uh, we have reason to believe an international assassin is on his way to kill you." Okay, Mac, when you say it like that we do sound crazy.

"Listen, I know this sounds really crazy, but we wouldn't be here if we didn't think you were in danger?"

"How do I know you're not the ones I should be worried about?"

"Because if we were, you'd be dead." Jack figures there's no point in mincing words. "Just trust me, get inside. And stay away from the windows." The man finally lets them in, and Jack clears the first floor, pulling Fletcher into the hallway by the laundry room, away from any windows.

"This is insane," the man continues to insist.

Jack nods. "I know, but so is the guy on his way here to kill you. So we're here to get you into protective custody before he can."

"But why would anyone be hired to kill me? Why would someone want me dead?" Fletcher sounds genuinely distraught and confused.

"Look, those are both very good questions, to be answered at another time, when this maniac is safely behind three-inch bars." Jack shakes his head. "Until then, we're going to take you to a secure facility where you'll be safe."

"I can't just leave like this. I have papers to grade, parent-teacher conferences…"

"Not anymore." Jack's patience is wearing thin. "I don't know if you understand what I'm saying here. Either you go away temporarily, with us, or you go away permanently, in a pine box."

"Actually, modern caskets…" Mac begins, and then stops. Yeah, definitely not the time, kiddo. But he'll cut Mac some slack. The kid's just trying not to think about how horrible everything is, so he's thinking of everything else.

"I have medication, for my heart," Fletcher says. "Can I at least grab that before we leave? I might need it."

"Okay. Go grab what you need, nothing else, and stay away from the damn windows." Jack nods. What's the use of saving the dude if he croaks in transit because we literally gave him a heart attack? He wants to go watch the guy's back, but watching Mac's back is more important, and they do have a Phoenix perimeter team watching for Murdoc.

"Alright, I'm standing by with transport," Cage says. "Have you got Fletcher?"

"He's getting his heart medication, and we're on our way."

There's a sudden commotion from the comms, and Jack winces at the shout that comes through. "Mac, Jack, get out of there now !" Riley is yelling.

"What the…" And then a spray of bullets peppers the wall and Jack flinches and ducks, feeling the burn of something cross his shoulder. Fletcher is standing in the stairwell, a small automatic in his hands, raking the room with gunfire. What the hell is this?

"Mac! He's got a gun!" Mac ducks, hiding behind a small table for cover, and scrambles over to Jack as Fletcher runs for the door, still firing. Jack reaches for Mac's shoulders and pulls him up against the wall. "You hit?"

"No…" Mac says shakily, then more confidently, "No, but...Jack...your shoulder..."

"Nothing vital." Jack thinks it was a graze. He glances down and sees blood trickling down his arm. Okay, I'll probably need stitches. Still, he can work with this.

"I have shots fired! All agents move in!" Cage is shouting, he can hear car tires squealing. "Where's Murdoc?"

"It's not Murdoc! It's the teacher!" Mac yells.

Jack hears another screech of tires that isn't coming through the comms. This is a blind cul-de-sac, only one exit. "Cage! Schoolteacher's on the move, headed your way, coming in hot!"

There's a gunshot and a thud, then a muffled groan. Jack races out the door, running to where their car is parked, just in time to see Cage jump to her feet, slide over the hood, and jump in the driver's seat.

"Guys, you really need to work on your warning time!"

"We'll worry about it later!" Jack yells back, jumping in the passenger seat as Mac climbs in the back. This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

* * *

Sam's shoulder aches and she wants to sleep for a week. As soon as we get Fletcher into protective custody, I'm crashing. She pulls the small silver convertible they've borrowed from the Phoenix fleet for this run to the side of the street near Fletcher's house.

She drove around the neighborhood after she dropped off Mac and Jack, checking for any signs of threat. She hasn't seen anything to set off the alarm bells. And I'm more on edge than usual today anyway. Getting shot tends to do that to a person.

"Transport standing by." Jack replies, telling her Fletcher is getting his heart medicine. She doesn't feel too worried about that. Murdoc doesn't seem to be here yet.

And then Riley is screaming into her comms, and Jack is yelling, and there's gunfire everywhere.

"Shots fired!" Where did he come from? How did he get past us? She slams the car into reverse, she needs to get as close to the house and get them in fast, she'll drive up to the front door if she has to to give them cover.

"Where is he?"

"It's not Murdoc, it's the teacher!" Mac sounds freaked out and confused, and Cage doesn't blame him. He's been through hell and back today. And then she sees the little black car. She throws the convertible into park and opens the door, going for a clear shot. If I can take him out... And then the car accelerates and she only has time to get off one poorly aimed shot before the car is practically on top of her. She flings herself over the hood of the convertible, groaning as she takes the impact on her bruised shoulder. Damn it, that hurts.

Mac and Jack run out of the house, and Jack's left arm is covered in blood, but neither of them look seriously wounded.

It's not until they're on the road that any of them even bother to ask Phoenix what's going on. Sam doesn't really have time to worry about the why of this one, she's having enough trouble keeping Fletcher's vehicle in sight. Whoever he really is, he's had pursuit training.

She barely manages to hang onto his trail when he whips out into a crowded street, weaving between cars scarily confidently. "What the hell did we just walk into?" Jack yells. "Schoolteachers don't drive like that!"

"And they don't shoot like that, either," Mac says grimly. He's trying to tie a strip of his shirt around Jack's arm.

Riley answers. "Those hits Friar kicked out weren't false positives. Fletcher has multiple aliases, but because the last one went off the grid in 1992, it wasn't as easy to tie them all together." Riley's voice is a little shaky. "Our boy Henry was quite a world traveler. With a different name in every port. And trouble seems to follow him. Whenever one of his aliases entered a country, someone in that country vanished. A journalist in Kiev, a prosecutor in Berlin, a banker in Shenzhen. I think we're looking at a fader."

"A fader?" Bozer asks.

"You want someone to go out with a bang, you hire Murdoc. But if you want someone to just fade away, you hire Fletcher." Cage responds. She leaves off the fact that her own job didn't used to be so different. Removing problems discreetly.

"Why would Murdoc be hunting someone like that?" Bozer asks.

"Taking out the competition?" Jack asks. "Maybe this guy was horning in on his territory."

"Well, we're not going to find out unless we get him in an interrogation room!" Matty says sharply. "So I suggest you three stop playing around and bring him in." Sam rolls her eyes.

"Hell yeah. Time to get hot for teacher." Jack pulls out his gun.

"Uh, Jack, if I'm going to interrogate him, I kind of need him alive?" Sam says.

"I think I have an idea," Mac says. "But it kinda depends on whether we can get in front of him."

Cage gives him a slightly offended glance in the rearview. "I think I can arrange that." The next second she's whipping off the road into a parking lot, pushing the speedometer well above the road traffic, and then jumping them over a curb and back into the street, narrowly avoiding clipping the front of a silver minivan. Horns are blaring but they're now definitely in front of Fletcher. "Oh yeah! Get it, girl!" Jack whoops, and Sam grins despite the situation. She loves it when this kind of thing works.

And then Jack is yelling, there's a jarring impact on her right arm, and Cage realizes Mac is climbing from the backseat over the console, and reaching up to do something to the top of the car.

"Mac, I think he's reloading!" Jack shouts.

"Yeah, I know, hurry up…" Mac's scrabbling with something in the car roof. Sam can't look, she has to keep her eyes on the road. And then the front visor is flipped down in her face and Mac is leaning over her.

"Uh, Mac, I'm kind of trying not to kill us all here?"

"Sorry." He moves enough that she can see the road. "Okay, I got it." He slides back a little. "Let him catch up." Sam would argue with anyone but Mac who asked her to let them purposefully get closer to a maniac with a loaded gun.

She can see the black car coming up on their tail. And then there's a loud sound of fabric ripping, and her hair is suddenly being blown into her face. He just ripped the top off the car. Behind her, she sees it slap across Fletcher's windshield and then get pulled down into the left front tire. The car careens sideways and slams into a row of parallel parked vehicles.

Sam skids the convertible to a stop in the center of the street and jumps out, holding her gun on the disoriented man stumbling out of the car. "Hands on the wall! Now!" Jack barks, pulling his own weapon. Fletcher obeys, and Jack cuffs him roughly. "That's for my arm."

Sam calls in. "Matty, we've got him. We'll bring him in for interrogation; we're gonna need secure transport."

"Copy that. Exfil is on its way."

"Do you think Matty'll be pissed about the car?" Mac asks, looking at the clearly ruined top.

"Only if she sees it," Jack says.

"Or if she hears you talking about it because you're still on comms," Matty says. Sam starts laughing, hysterically, uncontrollably.

"I can totally fix that with some duct tape…" Mac is apparently trying to make this better but he's spectacularly failing.

"For the record? What you did to that convertible? That's way worse than anything you've ever done to my phone," Jack says. Sam shakes her head. This family is crazy. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Riley's just finished talking to exfil and confirming they're on the way back when a video call starts ringing. "Matty. There's a call coming in."

"Put it through." Matty's voice is tense.

When the image flashes up on the screen, Riley freezes. Murdoc. "Matilda, Riley, and Bozer. How nice to see the whole gang today!"

"You know, we'd love a face to face with you, it would be so much better in person," Matty says.

"Oh, I would love that, but you see, my schedule is rather full, so I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check."

"Oh, and here I thought you were outsourcing these days," Riley cuts in. "Having us do your dirty work."

"On the contrary. I live for the dirty work," Murdoc chuckles. "I'm so glad you got the chance to meet Henry. That man is full of surprises. Rather like our dear little Miss Cage." He smiles eerily. He doesn't know she was honest with us about her past.

"You can save the manipulation, Murdoc. Cage told us about everything." Matty says. "You're not dividing my house." She tilts her head. "So what do you want with Fletcher? Did he steal your clients? Maybe they were looking to work with someone more...stable."

"Hurtful, Matilda. Hurtful. And here I thought we were friends."

"It's a little hard to be friends with someone who stalks, kidnaps, and tortures one of my agents, and shoots another."

"You have them both back, don't you?" Murdoc shrugs. "We've had such a good game this time, Matilda. You played your little pawns so well. But I'm still the one with the checkmate." And then the camera turns, and Riley gasps when she sees the secure transport vehicle in the screen. And then Murdoc chuckles, stepping into view holding a rocket launcher and pointing it at the vehicle. Riley doesn't even have time to scream a warning before the front of the transport explodes. Mac! Jack! Sam!

* * *

SECURE TRANSPORT

IT'S BEEN A LONG DAY

"Hey bud, how's that big brain o' yours holding up?" Jack asks.

"I'm okay." He's really not, he's making paperclip sculptures of bells and masks and he can't stop replaying the events of the day in his head. Has it really only been since this morning? He's been electrocuted, kidnapped, tortured, escaped, taunted, and found out he's been stalked for weeks, and gotten shot at. Even for my job, this is excessive.

He's exhausted, which is how he started the day. I just want to go to sleep. For a week.

"I'm just really glad you're back, bud." Jack reaches across the vehicle and ruffles his hair gently, and Mac leans into the touch.

And then the world is a chaos of fire and smoke and they're flipping, sliding, metal screeching and tearing. Someone is screaming. Maybe it's him. He can't tell. There's smoke everywhere, and he feels heat licking at his legs. His ankles are pinned under a piece of metal. I can't get out. I can't get out!

Beside him, Jack is scarily silent, his head bleeding, unmoving. "Jack," Mac rasps out, trying to reach over to him. And then he hears the whistling. No, no, no.

Murdoc walks up casually, kicking some twisted, smoking metal aside and pulling open the ruined door of the compartment Fletcher is in. He drags out the half-conscious man, and Mac can hear him talking outside. He wants us to hear this.

"Oh Henry! Such a pleasure to finally meet you. I know that you said that you always work alone, but seeing as how I just saved you from life in prison, I'd say you owe me a big favor.

See, I'm starting my own business venture. A little collective, if you will. And you are my first recruit." Fletcher's only answer is some incoherent groaning and mumbling. He's probably concussed.

Mac hears a car door slam, and then boots shuffle into his line of vision. Murdoc bends down, reaching into the car to cup Mac's cheek gently, brushing away a line of blood Mac didn't even feel coursing down his face. "Oh MacGyver, I wish I could stay. I do so love seeing you unable to move." Mac shudders. He can do anything he wants, I'm trapped. "I'll be seeing you, Angus. Very soon." He smiles. "Until then, enjoy the little mementos of our time together. I know I do."

Mac manages not to start panicking until Murdoc walks away. But then every rapid breath is a struggle, sucking in as much smoke as air, making everything worse. I have to get out, I have to get out of here.

"M-Mac? You alive?" Jack is coughing, rolling over. "Damn it, that was him, wasn't it?"

Mac can only nod. He can't speak, he can't breathe, he can't think.

"A rescue crew is on its way." Jack taps at his ear, his comm must still be working. "Five minutes out. They're gonna get us outta here, okay, so just hang in there."

"He was right there, Jack. Right there." Mac can't stop shaking. He's playing with me. He can hurt me, and he wants me to know that the only reason he hasn't done whatever he wants is because he chose not to. He hates that there's a twisted feeling of gratitude. He had every chance to do so much worse, and he didn't.

He forces himself to stop thinking like that. You don't owe a psychotic murderer anything. But he didn't even really escape on his own. Murdoc let him go .

He only realizes he's hyperventilating again when Jack places a calming hand on his chest and pulls Mac's own over to rest on Jack's heart. "Hey, Mac, stay with me, okay? It's gonna be okay, I'm right here." Mac nods shakily. "Just breathe, kiddo, just breathe."

Mac does. And as the sirens scream up, he feels his heartbeat finally falling into rhythm with Jack's.

* * *

PHOENIX MEDICAL

AGAIN

Cage is sporting a decent concussion, Mac's even more bruised and battered than before, and Jack has some minor burns and scrapes to add onto the arm graze; the doctors keep insisting all three of them should stay for some smoke inhalation as well. But Jack knows Mac isn't going to go for that, and there's no way in hell he's staying in medical overnight and letting Mac out on his own. That's how this whole damn disaster started. They doctors know better than to argue when he discharges himself.

The kid's nodding off in one of the waiting room chairs, and he jumps when Jack steps out.

"You look like you're wiped out, bud."

He nods. "All I want to do is sleep for a week, but I-I really, really don't know if I can even think about closing my eyes right now." Mac shudders.

"It's okay, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," Jack says. Bozer's driving down to see his sister again, apparently that's becoming a post-Murdoc tradition. Technically, Mac could have gone with him this time, but Jack's not willing to let the kid out of his sight. And it looks like Mac doesn't want that either. "Just grab your go bag and we'll head over."

"I'm already wearing what I had in it," Mac says, shrugging and gesturing to the jeans and flannel that are now grimy and sooty.

"Then you can borrow some of my stuff, you do it often enough already." Jack chuckles. "Go on, get in the car."

He takes four wrong turns on the way to the apartment, on purpose. Murdoc is still out there somewhere. And chances are he knows enough about them already to know exactly where Jack lives, but he's not going to slack off just because.

He locks his door and checks it again the second they get inside. "I'm gonna make us some supper, kiddo, cause I don't know about you but I have not eaten since that pub in London and I am starving. " Mac nods. "If you wanna take a shower, go ahead, you know where the clothes are." Mac is covered in soot and grime from the explosion, and the few gashes on his cheek and forehead bled so damn much too. Jack knows he's no better off, but if Mac wants the shower he's getting the first one; the water heater isn't working so great lately and it only has about one good shower in it at a time. Maybe I'll ask him to take a look at it. He'll save that for if the kid wakes up in the middle of the night and needs something to distract him.

He works on dinner while Mac is in the shower, and by the time the water shuts off he has the first round of slabs of French toast on the griddle. I know, not the most healthy meal. But he doesn't really have the energy to make anything else, and eggs are protein, and adding some strawberries on top is fruit, so that's healthy, right? And I scold Riley for her eating habits.

He's putting the first batch on a plate when Mac wanders in, wearing Jack's one of Jack's t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel. "Feel better?" Mac nods, tugging at the loose collar of Jack's t-shirt, pulling it up to cover the red lines on his collarbones.

"I made French toast," Jack says. "Seeing as that Paris cafe was so disappointing, and this is the only vaguely French thing I can cook successfully." Mac actually chuckles a little, and the tiny smile is the best thing Jack's seen all day.

"Here." He hands Mac a plateful of the golden brown slices. "Don't drown them in syrup now; or at least don't blame me if you get a sugar high and go buzzing around for three hours." Mac shakes his head and sits down with his food at the table.

He doesn't get a sugar high, as a matter of fact he almost passes out in his plate. He's absolutely exhausted. Jack takes the plate when Mac is done and tells him to go to bed, waving off Mac's protests about wanting to help clean up. "No, I'm fine, bud, I got this. Go get some rest." He's glad Mac doesn't seem afraid to go lay down and sleep, not the way he was after prison. I thought he was never going to want to sleep again.

By the time Jack finishes with the dishes, he's dragging on his feet too. He manages to brush his teeth and change out of his smoke-smelling clothes, but taking a shower sounds like too much work. He collapses on his bed and doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep.

Mac is screaming. Jack spins in a complete circle, but he has no idea where the sound is coming from. He's in an endless maze of tunnels, and no matter how fast he runs, he can't seem to get to the end of them. There are so many twists and turns, and Mac's voice seems to be coming from every one of them.

"Mac!" He shouts, but there's no answer, only harsh panting breaths that he realizes are his own. And then another sobbing cry echoes through the tunnels.

"Jack!" Mac's voice is strained and raw and breaking, and there's nothing but pure fear in it. Jack stumbles along, as fast as he can run. The water is getting deeper and deeper, it's going to go over his head…

He trips and falls, and instead of falling into the water he's falling down an endless hole of darkness. And then he's lying on the ground in a dim room with a mattress in the corner, opposite him. And Mac is lying there, curled up facing away from Jack, and his whole back is covered in deep red gashes. Jack shudders.

"Mac? Mac, I'm here, it's okay, I'm gonna get you out…" He tries to stand up but something yanks him back down, and he realizes that his hands are shackled to the wall. He doesn't know when that happened.

"Oh, didn't your mother ever teach you it's wrong to make promises you can't keep?" That taunting voice sends ice down Jack's spine. He looks up to see that Murdoc has somehow just appeared, standing between him and Mac.

"You sick son of a bitch. Let him go, and I'll make sure you get whatever you want." Jack knows he shouldn't bargain like this, not with anyone, but that's Mac over there, and Jack knows exactly what is about to happen to him.

"Oh, how precious, but I already have everything I want. I want Angus, and I want you to watch while I take everything he has to give. I want you to see, to know that no matter what you promise him, no matter what precious little Angus believes about you, you cannot save him. He is mine, and I will always be able to find him." Murdoc laughs and leans down, pulling Jack's chin up to stare into his eyes. "I hope you enjoy the show. I certainly will."

Jack shudders. Murdoc walks over to Mac and grabs his shoulder, forcing Mac over until he's lying on his stomach. Mac's face is turned toward Jack, and his eyes are a mixture of fear and pain and somehow, still trust. Jack's heart is shattering, even now Mac still seems to believe he can help him, that Jack is going to get them out.

"I'm so sorry Mac, I'm so sorry." And all the hope fades out of Mac's eyes. And then he screams.

That scream is all too real. Jack sits bolt upright, scrambling out of bed before he's even fully aware of what he's doing. Mac!

He stubs a toe on the doorjamb rushing into Mac's room, but he doesn't even register the pain as he kneels down beside the bed where Mac is thrashing violently, tangled hopelessly in the blankets.

The kid's stopped screaming, but he's sobbing, gasping and desperately repeating, "No, please, stop, no, help me, please, Jack!" That final cry tears at Jack's heart. I'm supposed to be there to save him and I wasn't. Murdoc could have done whatever he wanted and I wouldn't have been able to stop him. He knows Murdoc's plan all along was supposedly to allow Mac to escape, but Jack's not sure he believes a single word out of that creep's mouth. Especially not after seeing that one awful room.

He instinctively reaches for Mac, but pulls back, hands held uncertainly at his sides. All I want to do is hold onto him and never let go again, but he's so scared. If he thinks my hands are Murdoc's he's going to panic.

"Mac? Mac, it's me, it's Jack, I'm here now." He hopes his voice gets through to the terrified kid.

"J-jack?"

* * *

Mac shivers. It's so cold here, in the dark. He has to get out. He leans over, pulling the needle out of his arm with his teeth and dropping it into his hand. It's taking too long to pick the cuff locks, Murdoc will be coming back…

He's just gotten the second one loose when the door opens. There's no time to try and pretend, to fake being still restrained, to get the needle back into his arm somehow. Mac lets his head drop defeatedly to his bloodstained chest, then looks up guiltily into Murdoc's cold, pitiless eyes.

"Tsk tsk tsk, Angus, I go through all this trouble to make you comfortable and you're so ungrateful." He yanks Mac's hair back and stares into his eyes. "Someone really should have taught you better manners."

Mac can't speak, he feels absolutely frozen in fear.

"I've always been rather fond of the saying, 'Let the punishment fit the crime'." That's the only warning Mac gets before something heavy slams into his leg, hard. He hears bone crack, and he bites down on a cry of agony. "But I suppose, if you're so eager to get out of this little room, I can accommodate that."

He won't cry, he won't. He forces back the sobs as Murdoc drags him up the steps, across the open space in the middle of the warehouse, and into that dark, red-lit room. Murdoc flings him down on the mattress and turns away, pacing back and forth in front of that table and it's terrifying contents. Finally, he seems to make a decision, picking something up and walking back to Mac. He's swinging it in his hand, and Mac can see that it's an almost innocuous-looking piece of narrow black cord.

"I wouldn't want you to think I'm too cruel. We'll start off easy." He must see that Mac's terrified gaze is still trapped by the objects on the table. "Don't worry, we have all the time in the world to work the way through the rest of my...collection." He runs the end over the cord over Mac's cheek and shoulder, then yanks his hands in front of him and ties them tightly with a complicated knot Mac isn't familiar with. His only thought is a hysterical musing that maybe if he hadn't gotten kicked out of the Boy Scouts he would recognize it.

Murdoc unbuckles Mac's belt and pulls it free, looking at it for a long moment before setting it on the table. "I'm sure we can find a very good use for this later," he whispers, and Mac shivers.

Mac tries to fight back as Murdoc begins tugging away his pants, but he's confused and disoriented and his leg hurts so badly. He kicks frantically, but his clothes are tangled around his ankles now and it's worse than useless. Murdoc only laughs at the desperate struggles.

And then there's a crash of wood tearing free of hinges, and Mac looks up to see Jack in the doorway, gun pointed at Murdoc. "Let him go, Captain Crazy, or I'll put two in your head before you can blink." Mac breathes a shaky sigh of relief, Jack is here now and it's going to be okay.

Murdoc lifts a gun from the floor, turns, and casually fires three bullets into Jack's chest. And then Mac does scream.

"Mac? Mac, it's me, it's Jack." No, that's not right, Jack is dead. Murdoc shot him...didn't he? He blinks awake... That was a dream? ...and stares up at Jack standing over him. He looks as terrified as I feel.

"J-jack?"

"Hey kiddo, it's okay, it was just a dream." Jack scrubs a hand over his face, looking like he was fighting some of his own demons in the darkness as well. "You're okay." He sits down on the edge of the bed, hands twisted together like he doesn't know what to do with them.

Mac wants nothing more than for Jack to pull him close so he can rest his head on Jack's chest and hear his heartbeat and remind himself that Jack is still alive, that he's here and Mac is safe and they're going to be alright.

But he swallows back the desperate plea in his throat. I'm alright. It was just a nightmare. Murdoc didn't even do anything. Come on, get a grip.

His leg is bruised, painfully, where he must have kicked out and slammed it against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, and his feet are tangled up in the sheets. He tries not to remember how both of those figured into his dream. He realizes, dimly, that he kicked all the blankets off himself and he's shivering.

"Mac, are you cold?" Jack asks. "Here, are you gonna be okay if I untangle this mess?" Mac nods, and Jack starts untwisting the blankets from around Mac's legs and pulling them over him. He tucks the last one around Mac, and leaves his hand on Mac's shoulder, warm and heavy and comforting.

"I'm not gonna leave this time, okay?" he says softly, and Mac nods. Jack's eyes look haunted, like he's scared to be alone too. He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, and Mac slowly swings his legs over the side and sits next to him, leaning his head on Jack's shoulder. Jack puts an arm around his back and Mac relaxes, this feels safe. But Jack is still tense and the hand running up and down Mac's arm is shaking.

"Jack? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, bud. Just try and get some rest, okay? I'm right here, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you." It sounds like he's reassuring himself as much as he is Mac.

"Jack…" he whispers softly. "You're always upset when I don't tell you what's wrong. So please, tell me."

Jack sighs. "You don't need to hear it. I wish it was never in my head." He rubs his hand over Mac's back.

"I know. I do too. But it is." Mac takes a breath, and this time he's the one reaching to put an arm around Jack's shoulder. Please, please, be okay with that. Jack doesn't push him away or even give him an odd look, and Mac relaxes. "And you keep telling me I don't have to deal with all this alone. You're setting a bad example, old man." Jack laughs, but the sound teeters on the edge of a sob.

"I just...he had you, and I was right there and I couldn't get to you. There wasn't a damn thing I could do except watch," Jack finally whispers. "But what really scares me is that that wasn't just a nightmare." His hands fidget, like he's imagining holding a gun in them. "All I want to do is protect you, and that maniac took you right under my nose, and I couldn't stop him." He shakes his head. "And he's not even the first one. I'm supposed to have your back, kid, and I keep letting you down. And sometimes I wonder…" He glances at Mac, and Mac can see that Jack's eyes are glossy with tears. "Sometimes I wonder if you'd be better off with someone better watching out for you."

"No. I don't want anyone else watching my back. I want you," Mac says quietly. "We go out there and we do our jobs. It's not your fault Ruiz and his guys found me in that garage, and it's not your fault Murdoc was at my house." He smiles. "I know you want to be a helicopter parent, and I really do appreciate it, but you can't hover every second of every day. Then you'd just be creepy and stalkery. I have enough of those." He shivers a little, the thought of Murdoc hiding out around his house, taking those pictures, is viscerally horrifying. And reminds him that even though those windows have blinds, they're not very thick, and they'd still let light and silhouettes through.

"Can we go find some heavy curtains tomorrow?" Mac asks. He knows it's a huge change of subject, but he also knows Jack is used to how his brain randomly jumps from one thing to another without him having to explain all the connections. "I want to get them before Bozer gets back because he always hates my taste in home decor and he'll make me get something he thinks is 'aesthetically pleasing' or something."

"Sure thing, kiddo." Jack grins. "You know, I still have to pretend I sell wall tile for a living, so I might be even more unbearable when it comes to matching color schemes."

Mac chuckles and leans a little closer. I don't care if we argue about colors and patterns all day. He's just glad they're both alive to do it.

Somewhere out there, Murdoc is biding his time, waiting for the chance to strike again. And Mac knows it. But that doesn't mean he has to let that monster inside his head. You owe him nothing. You're stronger than he thinks. You can beat him, and you will. But he won't do it alone. And that's okay.


End file.
